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THE LOST WIFE 



CINCINNATI: 

PUBLISHED BY P. C. BROWNE. 


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by 
P. 0. BROWNE, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States 
for the Southern District of Ohio. 


Pkintkd By B. C. Browne, 
South-East cor. Third and Sycamore. 
Cincinnati, 0. 


DEDICATION 


• ♦ 

TO THAT WHICH I MOST FEAR, 

WHOSE GOOD OPINION I MOST COVET, 

T h: E :F> TJ B L I o , 

18 THIS VOLUME RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY 

THE AUTHORESS. 










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ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


CHAPTER I. 

*‘0h, my Father, be merciful!” 

The agonized prayer was wailed out in the silence 
and gloom of a lonely chamber, and the fitful flashes 
of light from a grate ^vhere the half smothered blaze 
played over the black, smoking coals, revealed but 
partially the half prostrate form of a lady from whose 
lips the piteous lamentation had issued. 

She was sitting upon the carpet, her arms crossed 
upon a chair, and her face buried upon them. A 
dress of deep black fitted closely about a slender 
form, and the loose sleeve falling away, gave the 
gleam of a snow white arm through the fitful light; 
but neck and shoulders were vailed in a mass of long 
dark hair that flowed over them and swept the floor. 
Heavy sobs and low quivering moans followed that 
audible cry for help and pity, and then the moans 
gradually ceased, and in a little while she wept 
softly, quietly, as if relief had come to an over 
burthened heart, and tears were gently washing away 
its stinging bitterness. 

( 5 ) ' 


6 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

Half an hour passed, and the blaze burned brightei 
and more steadily. At last the bowed head was 
raised, and it was a strangely sweet face that was 
revealed, as with one tiny white hand the lady swept 
back the mass of rich hair that had fallen over it 
and become wet with that rain of agonized tears. 

The brow was low, broad and full ; a perfect type 
of intellectual beauty. The eyes large and shadowy 
— soft and lustrous now in the mist of tears still hang- 
ing upon the long lashes — in color like a violet, 
changing to black almost, with each phase of straying 
thought. The cheeks were round and full, yet very 
delicate in their contour — the lips full and arched 
like a bow. The chin delicate, but bearing that un- 
mistakable stamp of firmness so plainly expressed in 
that feature of the face. There was a deep crimson 
burning now upon the cheeks, and the dark lines 
under the eyes spoke of suffering. But, with the 
traces of suffering upon her face, you see endurance 
and meekness in the expression of the beautiful 
mouth, and the brow and eyes are shadowed with a 
high and lofty purpose. 

“ Ah, me !” she sighed once more aloud, and with 
a mournful, thrilling softness in her voice. “ It is 
hard, but it is rights I feel. Ah, Edward, I may never 
again look up proudly in your face and call yon 
mine ! That bright dream has passed like a golden 
flood of sunshine behind a cloud that may never 
scatter, and henceforth, unloved (would to God I 
could say unloving) I must meet life alone and un- 
aided. No, not unaided,” she added, and a beautiful 
light broke over the face she slowly lifted upward, 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


7 


“for Thou, oh my Father, who hast seen into the 
innermost depths of my heart and knoweth its strug- 
gles to follow after the right, will aid me through 
life, even unto death — though all others forsake me.” 

The lad}^ rose to her feet with another deep drawn 
sigh. She was not tall, but about medium size, with 
a form and movements of indescribable grace. A 
watch rested in her belt ; a plain, but elegant brooch 
fastened the mourning collar about her white throat, 
and a plain circlet of gold banded the third finger 
of her left hand. Her whole appearance was that 
of an elegant, refined, and high-minded woman; 
struggling with grief, wrestling with pain, but slowly, 
surely rising above these influences, through love 
and Faith. 

She took up the poker, stirred the now glowing 
coals until every corner of the chamber glowed with 
the bright light they sent out, and then gliding softly 
to the bed, she drew aside the heavy curtains and 
revealed the form of a child sleeping upon the pillow. 
It was a sweet and touching picture, and a mist once 
more gathered over the lady’s eyes as she gazed down 
upon the child with its round, softly flushed cheek 
nestled in one dimpled hand, and the light shining 
rings of fair hair lying over the forehead. The tiny 
lips were slightly parted, and the little pearly teeth 
just peeped from beneath them; the breath came 
softly and regularly to the listening ear of the mother, 
and the long lashes sweeping the baby’s cheeks, 
seemed serenely to vail the clear orbs which on 
opening you may find as deep, clear and beautiful 
as these were wont to be, which are now misty with 


8 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


unshed tears. Mother and child are very like ; only 
one is a fairer type, because in a minature form of 
beauty. 

Once more the lady sighed heavily, and gently 
dropped the curtains, gliding back to the fire, and 
dropping her forehead upon the mantle piece as she 
murmured : 

“ Only for her ! only for her I it would be less hard I 
So young, so tenrler, so beautiful — oh God, could I 
ever bear to see her suffer. To grow up obscurely — 
perchance beneath the blighting shadow of suspicion 
—to come at last to what f Misery? Ah, Heavens, 
let me not think of it 1 For myself, I should not mind 
poverty and toil, but for her I shrink from it as from 
a pestilence. Have I done right, to take her from all 
that could brighten youth and life, to expose her, 
perhaps, to suffering, insult, everything, that the poor 
and helpless have to endure ? Oh, my heart is torn 
with conflicting emotions — my brain racked with 
confusion I Father in heaven ! I am weak and pow- 
erless I Help me !” 

With clasped hands and bowed head sho, prayed 
with passionate fervor, wrestling with the terrible 
forms of evil that beset the pathway where she was 
advancing, pleading for light, for strength and guid- 
ance, till once more the shadow was lifted, and her 
face grew calm. 

A sharp cry from the bed broke the silence that 
followed, and going to it, the lady took the child in 
her arms and sat down in a rocker which she drew 
up before the grate. 

“ My baby woke soon,” she said gently, as she 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 9 

folded the long white night dress over the dimpled 
feet. Wlij can’t little Ada sleep ?” 

The child’s eyes were wide open and fixed on the 
glowing coals as if in deep thought. For a moment 
she sat unheeding, and then turned her face suddenly 
to her mother. 

“ Mamma 1” 

“Well, my darling.” 

“Ada see papa I” said the child, with trembling 
eagerness. The lady’s cheeks, lips and brow grew 
ashen, but as if determined to hide the spasm that 
had struck a chill to her heart from human eyes, she 
choked down the quivering gasp that rose in her 
throat, and asked softly: 

“ Ada saw papa ? Where ?” 

The little creature’s face lighted with an intelli- 
gence beyond her years, and closing the starry eyes 
she laid one soft, dimpled cheek in her hand, and the 
tip of a tiny finger over her forhead. 

The lady smiled sadly. 

“ Ah, mamma understands. Her little girl dream- 
ed she saw papa.” 

“Yes, Ada jeamed,” nodded the child delighted 
at being so readily understood. 

Then she added: 

“Mamma, where is papa? Ada wants to see 
papa.” <, 

Again the lady’s lips grew even more deathly in 
their hue, and her frame shook as if with an ague, 
but now she did not speak. 

“Oh, mamma,” the little one persisted, “Ada 
wants to go to papa ! Take Ada back to papa 1” 


10 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


“ Oh, my baby, how you torture me,” moaned the 
mother, hiding her white face upon the child’s 
shoulder. “ Mamma cannot take you to papa I” 

‘‘ But Ada wants to go back to papa. Do take 
Ada to papa,” pleaded the little girl with a quiver- 
ing lip. 

“My child I” faltered the lady once more, “you 
do not know what you ask. Papa is far, far away — 
and oh, God! all unworthy the love of his pure little 
child 1 Oh, Edward ! Edward I this is some of the 
fruits of your work I Not I alone must suffer, but 
the little one whose fond, pure love ought to have 
kept you true to us both. Oh, Heaven forgive you I 
Oh, God ! help me to forgive you I” 

She rose and placed the child in the chair, and 
with quickly beating heart, tightly locked hands and 
corrugated forehead, paced the floor back and forth 
in strong agitation. She was too weak in the heavy 
struggles she had endured, to yet rear an impenetra- 
ble barrier of firmness between herself and her sor- 
row — to establish a self-control. 

Ada’s eyes followed her mother’s form in wonder 
and grief, forgetful of all save the scene before her. 
A great throb of pain swelled the little heart, and 
the lips parted with a low, sobbing cry, which brought 
the mother back to her side, and catching her to her 
bosom, she folded her there with remorseful tender- 
ness, and strove as only a mother can to hush the 
sobs that quivered through the room with pitiful 
pathos. 

“ My baby! my precious babyl I had no right to’ 
make you feel what I suffer 1 Oh, I will try with' 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


11 


God’s help, to shield you from the consequences of 
the step I have taken. Oh, surely, surely, you were 
never destined to drink the cup of sorrow from your 
infancy! God forbid ! My baby! my baby! 1 will, 
1 must shield you !” 

Thus murmuring, with loving intensity, she kissed 
and carressed her, till the little girl grew quiet, and 
once more sat up in her mother’s lap, her tearful 
eyes fixed in childish wonder upon her pale, troubled 
face. 

But gradually the little orbs grew heavy and the 
curly head sank upon her bosom, while the lady sat 
still and mute. When slumber had completely 
wrapped the child’s transient grief in oblivion, the 
mother softly laid her upon the pillow once more, 
and then with slow, thoughtful mein, paced back 
and forth through the chamber. 

Heavily the hours dragged along. The rain beat 
against the window panes, and the wind surged 
drearily around the building with heavy, monotonous 
sound, but the pale, silent woman whose footfalls 
woke no echo on the thick carpet, heeded neither. 
Nor did she heed the loud clang of the town clock 
as it tolled the midnight hour. Wrapped in her 
own thoughts, she never paused in that slow, mo- 
notonous walk until the fire had died out of tlie 
grate, and the great city grew quiet, as if for a brief 
space of time its mighty heart had ceased its pulsa- 
tions. 

Then, v;ith a cold sliiver, she threw herself upon 
the bed beside the sleeping babe, and sank into a 
troubled slumber. 


CHAPTEE IL 


“ Papa, Miss Durand leaves us to-day.” 

There was a shade of trouble in the clear brown 
eyes of Madeline Olifton as she communicated this 
little piece of information to her father, who had just 
taken his seat at the breakfast table with the morning 
papers beside him. 

The old Doctor looked across at her with some 
surprise. 

“ Going to leave to-day, you say, my love. What’s 
that for?” 

Madeline sighed a little sadly, but smiled quietly 
as she returned ; 

“To get married. Surely you have not forgotten 
tlnit I told you of the fact more than two weeks ago, 
and now the time has come for her to leave, and her 
place is still unsupplied.” 

“Bless my soul I I did not remember anything 
about it! Why didn’t you remind me? Going to 
marry, eh! Well, well, I suppose we m.iL!st give her 
up, as there is no help tor it, seeing she is going to 
marry. When a woman fixes her mind upon that 
important event of her life, there’s an end to their 
usefulness.” 

“I declare, I do not see what we are to do without 
her,” returned the daughter seriously. “ She seemed 
to understand us so well, that I am afraid we will 
never find her equal, and for the children’s sake more 
than my own, I regret it.” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


13 


‘‘To be sure it’s bad ; but never mind, cbild. we’ll 
soon get another, I hope just as good,” said the Doc- 
tor cheerfully. “I ought to have attended to the 
matter before, but its not yet too late. Let’s see.” 

He took up one of the papers and looked at the 
advertising columns. After running his eye down 
them for a few moments, he threw the paper aside 
and took up another. Here, after a moment’s search, 
his eye rested thoughtfully. 

“I’ll see, I’ll see,” he muttered. “Perhaps she 
will suit.” 

“What is it, father?” asked Madeline, pouring out 
a second cup of coffee for him as he laid down the 
paper, thoughtful still, 

“ An advertisement for a situation as governess. 

It is a lady at the M House, who is in want of 

just such a situation as we have open. It remains to 
be seen if she is just such a person as we want. I 
will call there to-day.” 

So the subject was dismissed, and a lively conver- 
sation ensued, in which others of the family took a 
part. 

It was a pleasant cii'cle that had gathered round 
the table in the cheerful little breakfast room. Dr. 
Clifton himself was a hale, hearty man of fifty; very 
kind and benevolent in his nature — a thoughtful, 
tender, and generous friend, and a devoted fiither. 
The happiness and welfare of his children was above 
all other oartlily considerations. Of tliese he had 
three; a son of twenty-five, who had adopted his 
fa4;her’8 profession with fiiir prospects of success ; a 
daughter, Madeline, of nineteen, wise and thoughtful 


14 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


beyond her years^ and the pet of the household, Kate, 
who was about twelve, and as great a teaze as ever 
lived, yet impulsively affectionate and generous in 
her nature. Other children he had had, but death 
had cut them off in their bloom, as it had also his 
gentle and noble-minded wife. Mrs. Clifton had died 
scarcely a year previous to the introduction of the 
family to our readers, and the blow was all the more 
severe because of the two little orphan girls whom 
they had adopted, and who, more than their own 
children, needed her tender care and careful training. 

One of these was the only child of a neice of Mrs. 
Clifton’s, who, in dying, begged that she would re- 
ceive and rear her as her own. The other was the 
daughter of an Italian lady around whom the direst 
misfortunes seemed to accumulate until death relieved 
her of a burthen life could not sustain. 

She had married in opposition to the will of her 
relatives, and with her proud young English husband, 
had sought a home in America, where they might 
establish more congenial relations. Scarcely a year 
passed, however, before a sudden misfortune swept 
away the little fortune Mr. Montes possessed, and 
shortly afterward he was stricken down with a fever 
and died, leaving his widow and infant almost utterly 
destitute. 

Poverty, toil, and illness combined, bowed the nat- 
urally delicate, tenderly reared woman to the earth, 
and in her sorest distress. Doctor Clifton had been 
called in, and his great benevolent heart became in- 
terested in the helpless mother and child. Mrs. Clif- 
ton entered into his generous plans for their aid with a 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


15 


spirit of humane love worthy to be classed with his, and 
they gave her a home where she was kindly cared for. 

But day after day she drooped and faded away, and 
at last died broken-hearted. She had written to lier 
relatives, informing them of her condition, but the 
cold reply they returned only served to hasten the 
termination of a wretched life, and her discarded, 
lielpless orphan daughter, fell dependent upon the 
charity of her mother’s benefactors. They did not 
demur or liesitate to accept the trust the wretched 
woman bequeathed them in dying, but with a loving 
tenderness rare and beautiful, Mrs. Clifton gathered 
the little one to her bosom and murmured : 

“I accept this little babe in the spirit One has 
taught us who said, ‘Inasmuch as you do it unto one 
of these little ones ye do it unto me.’ My own will 
not be more tenderly cared for than this my little 
adopted daugliter, — God helping me,” and Doctor 
Clifton clasping the cold hand of the dying mother, 
said earnestly: 

“ My wife has spoken for both of us.” 

So the sufferer was comforted in her last moments 
by the divine love of two noble hearts. 

Mary Staunton and Agnes Montes vrere nearly the 
same age, Agnes being but a little more than a year 
Mary’s senior. So the three little girls ranging down 
from Kate, twelve, eleven, and ten, were no light 
responsibility, but Dr. Clifton declared it a great bless- 
ing, and he called them his jewels. 

And this was the circle that gathered around the 
breakfast table on the morning in which we introduce 
tliem to the reader. 


16 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


Dr. Clifton, Jr., had sent down an excuse, saying 
he would breakfast later, as he was busy, and Miss 
Durand had a slight headache, so that the little ones 
felt at liberty to break through the restraint their 
grave brother and governess’ presence imposed upon 
them, and chattered like magpies when the Doctor 
had thrown aside his paper to enjoy his coffee and 
their society exclusively. 

“ Papa,” said Kate, “ won’t you come and take us 
out riding with you this afternoon? We are not to 
have any school you know, and it will be so nice. 
Just see how brightly the sun is shining.” 

“Yes,” put in Mary, “and see how the rain drops 
have frozen upon the trees. They look for all the 
world just like little diamonds jingling up and down 
on the twigs. Oh, how beautiful the woods must 
look !” 

Madeline glanced out of the window through which 
the trees to which Mary alluded could be seen, flash- 
ing in maguiflcent beauty beneath their load of ice- 
jewels ; and the Doctor with a genial smile upon the 
animated and expectant faces of his daughter and 
neice, turned a look upon Agnes who sat eating her 
breakfast quietly. 

‘ What does my Aggie say?” he asked. “ Does she 
want a holiday too, and a ride ?” 

Without lifting her great lustrous black eyes from 
her plate, the child answ^ered gravely and respectfully: 

“The holiday I shall have anyway, as Miss Durand 
is going. As for the ride, I am not anxious. I shall 
like either to go or stay as you please, sir.” 

“But I had rather see less indifference, my little 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 17 

girl, and that you should enjoy it as other girls of 
your age enjoy such things.” 

There was no response, and Mr. Clifton sighed as 
he inwardly compared the grave, singular character 
of the Italian girl with those of the two laughing, 
happy children who were merrily and joyously dis- 
cussing the enjoyment in store for them. 

“Well, good bye, pets. I guess I’ll have to give 
you all a ride this afternoon. Here, come kiss me, 
and I’m off.” 

Kate sprang up with a bound and caught him round 
the neck. 

“ Oh, you dear, dear, good papa ! I wont teaze you 
any more for a week!” and with a dozen impulsive 
kisses upon his bland, happy face, she sprang through 
the door and up the stairs like an antelope. Mary 
came next with loving and childlike grace clasping 
his neck as he stooped to kiss her, and she too went 
up stairs. Agnes rose quietly. There was no feeling 
in the large eyes she lifted to his ; no loving pressure 
from the red lips she gravely held up for his caress. 
But with more tenderness than he had shown either 
of the others, he drew her for a moment to his bosom 
and softly pressed his lips to hers. 

“ Don’t forget to see about the governess this morn- 
ing the first thing, papa,” Madeline requested as she 
came round to his side, happy like the others of his 
children, to receive the accustomed token of love at 
parting. 

“My daughter, had you not better accompany me 
in my search ?” 

“I cannot, indeed, father. There are so many 
2 


18 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


things to look after to-day, I cannot be spared. I 
must not risk my reputation as housekeeper, you 
know,” she added playfully. 

“I can’t see how you could in looking up a gov- 
erness for your little sisters,” said the Doctor in reply, 
but he added : 

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll attend to the affair myself 
for you have enough to do anyway. Good morning, 
my love.” He pressed a kiss upon her pure clear 
brow and was gone, while she turned to her duties 
with a quiet steadiness much at variance with her 
age. Her mother’s death had wrought a wonderful 
change in her, developing her at once into a quiet, 
strong, almost self-reliant woman. Ho one would 
have dreamed she was once as wild and thoughtless 
as the heedless, impulsive Kate, whose rattlebrained 
disposition gave her gentle elder sister so much care ; 
and yet before the great affliction which had laid a 
heavy hand upon a happy family, Madeline was even 
more wild than she. 

Ah ! liow circumstances change or develop us ! 

Doctor Clifton drove directly to the M before 

entering upon his round of professional visits. He 
went into the Clerk’s Office, examjned the register, 
and found the name of Mrs. O. Meredith, St. Louis, 
Mo., and sent up liis card. 

There was a shade of earnest thought upon his 
brow as he sat waiting in the Ladies’ Parlor for the 
lady he had called to see. His children’s happiness 
was of too much moment to allow him to place a 
person over them whose influence could prove in- 
jurious, and he was aware of the difficulty he had to 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


19 


meet in seeking for an instructress now from among 
total strangers./ Even the best judges of human nature 
are sometimes lieceived, notwithstanding evidences 
flattering or derogatory to a character which they may 
seek to understand. Who was this lady, and wliat 
would he find her? He had been induced to believe 
that he had found what he desired from the advertise- 
ment. And yet what could advertisements say to 
reveal the true character of a person? He sat lost in 
thought and speculation when the door opened and a 
servant announced : 

“ Mrs. Meredith,” and at once retired. 

Doctor Clifton rose, and the slender, dark-robed 
figure of the lady glided to meet him with a grace and 
quiet ease as pleasing to the fastidious eye of the old 
gentleman, as was the sweet pale face and clear soft 
voice that greeted him. With a dignified, yet gentle 
manner, she accepted the seat he placed for her, and 
motioned him to resume his own, saying: 

“You have seen my advertisement?” 

“Yes, Madam, I have in this morning’s paper, and 
wishing to engage a person qualified as you claim to 
be, I have called to see you about it. I presume you 
are a widow,” glancing at her black dress, “or more 
likely an orphan, for you look very young?” 

“And suppose I should say you were correct in 
saying both,” she answered with a sad smile. 

“Then, Madam, I should say you are very unfor- 
tunate indeed. You are from St. Louis?” 

“Yes, sir, directly.” 

“You have lived there?” 

“Ho, sir, a different part of the world I have called 


20 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


♦ 


iny home when prosperity and peace allowed me 
such a haven. But circumstances have changed all 
things in ray life. I am alone — not helpless, I trust, 
but self-dependent. The past is full of pain — let me 
forget it. In the present I only seek to find the way 
to future advancement and usefulness.” 

There was little that could be read in the calm, sad 
face before him, and the good old Doctor felt not a 
little puzzled and awkward in proceeding. But after 
a sliglit pause in which he vainly tried to read some- 
thing of the feelings passing within the mind of the 
strangely fascinating woman before him, he said in- 
terrogatively: 

“You of course bring references?” 

She turned her large eyes upon him with a clear, 
full gaze, and answered frankly; 

“]^o, sir, I do not.” 

“Why, Madam! excuse me, but will you allow 
me to ask you how you expect to obtain a respectable 
situation without recommendations? Perhaps you 
have friends here? Or — ” 

“No, sir,” she interrupted, with gentle dignity. 
“I have no friends here, and I am not surprised at 
the astonishment your manner expresses at the step I 
have taken toward gaining a footing in a good family 
without references. But let me tell 3mu frankl\% sir, 
that my ability to perforin any duties I may under- 
take, and 1113" deportment must be my passport into 
any family where I may be so fortunate as to gain 
admittance. My greatest misfortune is my loneliness. 
None need fear me. I come from a good family, and 
till now have never known the need of self-depen- 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


21 


deuce. But as I said, fortunes change, and I am 
making my way forward now, blindly, perhaps, but 
earnestly, trustfully. If you will try me you will 
never have need to regret it. This is all I can say 
for myself.” 

Her manner was peculiarly earnest and frank, and 
the face was now lighted with a pure, truthful and 
innocent expression that won the interest of the man 
before her to an intense degree. But generous and 
benevolent as he was. Doctor Clifton was not one to 
work blindly where the welfare of his children was con- 
cerned, and he would at once have cut short the inter- 
view as useless, but for the strange interest that drew 
him toward the 3’oung and desolate being before him. 

‘•But, Madam,” he said, “do you not know you 
have undertaken an almost impossible thing? You 
bring no references — you tell us nothing of yourself to 
guide us to a knowledge of your character, and yet 
you ask us blindly to receive you into the bosom of 
our families and place our dear little ones in your 
hands? Pardon me,” he continued kindly, seeing 
her face crimson painfully. “ I do not speak to wound 
you, but to show you the position you have taken, for 
I really do not think you can comprehend the light in 
which you place yourself by so extraordinary a step. 
You will find your path full of thorns and difficulties 
at every turn, and be doomed at last to disappoint- 
ment — perhaps worse. You will meet with unkind- 
ness and rebuff. I am not trying to discourage you 
in what you may deem right, believe me. Madam, 
but I say in all kindness that you cannot get along 
thus in a suspicious world.” 


22 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


One small hand had crept np over the crimson fore- 
head while he was speaking, and now shaded the 
eyes from which the tears were dropping silently. 
The old gentleman looked at the slightly bowed figure 
with compassionate kindness, and slowly rising took 
a step toward the door. 

She looked up then, and with a little quivering ges- 
ture, as if self-control was beyond further effort, said 
appealingly: 

‘‘Oh, sir, I do know the difficulties you mention, 
but for my child’s sake I would brave everything! 
I have a tender, delicate daughter for whom I must 
labor, and I can endure anything for her sake. Is 
there no hope of proving my personal worth — for oh, 
sir, I do not deserve scorn or blame — only pity, as 
there is a Father in Heaven who knows my heart this 
moment!” 

“ Poor woman ! How little you know this world,” 
exclaimed the Doctor. “My child you are a very 
novice, and are not fit for that you would undertake. 
You are but a child at best, yourself, and have a little 
one you say to care for. How come and sit down 
here and tell me frankly how you expect in your 
youth and beauty to meet a cold world, and hanging 
a vail between your life and it, ask it to accept you 
without suspicion and unkindness. Everything will 
go against you in your helplessness. And if you give 
no confidence, how can you make friends? There 
are those who will pity you because they see you alone 
and helpless, but they will not trust you, because they 
know nothing of you.” 

There was such an air of fatherly kindness in his 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


23 


manner as he seated himself and took a chair near 
her, that her woman’s heart went out to him as a 
little child’s in love and confidence. But there was a 
feeling of shame that held her mute for several mo- 
ments until the Doctor’s words won from her lips that 
which she had it in her heart to tell him. 

“Come,” he said, ‘‘tell me sometliing about your- 
self, and if I can, I will help you, for I sincerely pity 
you, and would gladly aid you out of this unpleasant 
position. I cannot, however, even to spare your feel- 
ings, leave you blind to the exact extent of the error 
into which you have fallen.” 

“I will tell you,” she said tremulously. “I feel 
your kindness, and see that 1 am almost helpless 
alone. I had never thought to breathe to mortal ear 
Avhat I am going to tell you, but your age and kind- 
ness win my confidence. I ask your assistance, and 
after all, it is but right that you should know in 
whom you take an interest, painful as it is to me to 
tell you.” 

Then followed a brief sketch of her past life, recited 
sometimes in sadness, sometimes with tears and 
anguish. The Doctor listened with rapt attention, and 
when she had done, he took her hand respectfully. 

“Lady you have done well to confide in me. I 
can and will befriend you, for I know you have 
spoken trutlifully. My sympathy you have to an 
entire degree, for your sufferings have been severe. 
But now I will leave you, and this evening will call 
and speak with you further. Rest assured of my 
assistance, and try to bo cheerful. Consider me your 
friend.” 


24 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


‘‘Thank yon!” murmured the lady through her 
tears. “ And oh, believe me, sir, you will never find 
me ungrateful.” 

He pressed her hand kindly and took his leave, 
and then she went to her room and burying her face 
among the pillows of her couch, wept long and freely. 

When evening came Doctor Clifton returned ac- 
cording to promise. He looked a little sober and 
thoughtful, but was kind and respectful in his manner. 
Mrs. Meredith met him with some restraint. She 
had not got over the painful struggle of the morning 
to reveal that which had cost her so much. But his 
manner soon dissipated it. There was but one thing 
that brought a trouble now to both. 

“Mrs. Meredith, we will give you the situation we 
have if you find yourself competent. You are at lib- 
erty to try it, and if you fail to please us, we will find 
you something else ; but what will you do with your 
child ?” 

“What will I do with my child?” she repeated. 
“ Why sir, can I not have her with me ?” 

“ But you cannot care for a little one and at the 
same time discharge school duties. Have you not 
thought of this before?” 

“Yes, sir, but I always thought to have a nurse and 
keep her near me. I could not bear it otherwise.” 

“There I think you are mistaken. Do not under- 
take too much, lest you fail in all. I think your best 
plan would be to put her out to nurse. There is an old 
lady living in the same block with ourselves, who will 
take her if you are willing, and as I have known her 
for years, 1 can vouch for the tender care the child 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


25 


will receive. I have thonglit of everything, and in 
my desire to aid yon have looked into matters of most 
importance. What do 3^11 say to the proposition?” 

Mrs. Meredith was silent for some moments. Her 
way seemed hard indeed, and she w'ould have instant- 
ly rejected the idea of parting with her child, giving 
lier pure, innocent charge into the hands of strangers ; 
but now, plainer than ever before, she saw the diffi- 
culties of her wa}^, and could not reject the onl}" hand 
that offered her assistance, when another might never 
be offered in the same spirit of benevolent good- 
ness. But ought she to let her child go from her 
sight? For her onH, she sought to labor, this was 
her sole motive in life. She had expected difficulties, 
but she had never intended them to separate her 
from her child, where every hour she might not watch 
over and train her mind as only a mother can, and 
every impulse rose up against it. 

“You must make some sacrifice for the sake of 
3’our child, Mrs. Meredith,” said her benefactor, tired 
of the dela3\ 

“ I know it,” she answered, “but sir, I cannot have 
her go out of my sight. She is all I have, and it will 
bo the sole jo}^ in my lonely life to rear her rightl3" — • 
to [(reserve her spotless, with God’s help, from the 
world. How can I answer for her future if I fail to 
])lant in her the principles that are to sustain her 
through life. Doctor Clifton, a mother’s eye should 
never leave her child, and I cannot let mine go from 
mo.” 

“ But it is better for both yourself and little one, 
and I would not advise it, did I not feel it so. Do 

3 


26 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


not act hastily. I offer you a situation on the strength 
of your confidence, which another would not give, 
and you will be placing more obstacles in your own 
way than you are aware of, if you reject it.” 

“ Sir, I am fully aware of the truth you have spoken, 
but I feel it my duty to keep her with me. If you 
cannot allow me to take her with me under your roof, 
then I fear I must look further, and trust in God for 
aid, for I cannot, indeed I cannot give up my little 
child to strangers.” 

There was a spice of stubbornness, with all his 
goodness, in the old Doctor’s composition, and when 
he was willing to go so far to aid one as he had made 
up his mind to do in regard to her, he did not like to 
have the sole proposition he had made thus decidedly 
rejected. For the mother’s feeling he had due 
respect, but he did not relish the idea of a little 
child under his roof, where three children already 
claimed his care, and honestly believing it better that 
the child should be kept out of her mother’s way, had 
in his own mind made it a sort of condition that she 
should' send her out to nurse or give up the situation.’ 

“Is this your - final decision?” he asked a little 
coldly. 

“What can I say more?” she returned with painful 
sadness in her tone. 

“Ah life is indeed harder to sustain patiently than 
I thought ! The world requires- conditions which it 
places between the heart’s of God’s creatures and 
their dearest wishes, and I fear me those who reject 
them, will be called ungrateful and stubborn. But 
sir, to end this matter, I will say that I must not put 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


27 


my little girl from my own care, and in doing my 
duty, however hard may bo the path I shall have to 
tread and the difficulties to surmount, I shall look to 
God for help, and do believe that I shall not look in 
vain.” 

You are blindly turning 3^0111' ffice from one of 
Ilis especial favors, if you could but see it,” answer- 
ed the Doctor somewhat impatiently. ‘‘ I am anxious 
and ready to assist you, and you refuse it. I hope you 
will not have cause to regret the step you are taking, 
but I much fear 3^ou will. Kemeiuber this, however, 
and it is all that I can say now ; you will find that 
my experience in the world has rendered me a correct 
judge of what is before you in your position, and 
when you too, through that experience, have gained 
the knowledge I have, and can make up your mind to 
accept my advice and assistance, I am still willing to 
befriend 3’ou. Till then, I leave you to experiment. 
I may not give you the situation 3"ou have open for 
3’ou now,” he added, “for it must be filled soon, and 
your rejection renders it necessary I should look 
further. There may be some other way, however.” 

He bowed and turned to go, leaving her standing 
near the middle of the room with a storm at heart be- 
yond his keenest preceptioii. She could not see her 
way clearly, or make a distinction between accepting 
or rejecting finally, for her child’s sake. And during 
the struggle, he passed out and was gone. 

“Oh, what have I done!” she moaned. “He 
loould have been my friend, and 1 could have trusted 
him, but now I have sent him from me, perhaps feel- 
ing that all his kindly interest was wasted, and may 


28 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


never again find one who will be the same frieml to a 
lonely stranger he would have been ! My Father in 
mercy guide me, for oh, indeed I am blind !” 

Slowly she groped her way back to her chamber, 
in such an agony of mind as scarcely to be able to 
stand. Little Ada lay sobbing bitterly upon the bed, 
and a momentary forgetfulness of the sharp pain she 
endured, came with her endeavors to sooth her. But 
after a time when the child again slept, all her doubts 
fears and struggles came back, and as on the night 
previous, she paced her room in a wild conflict of 
feeling till the gray dawn crept in at the window, and 
she was compelled from exhaustion to lie down. 


CHAPTER III. 

A WEEK had passed away, and Mrs. Meredith was 
almost dispairing. She could not go out and leave 
her little girl, and the answers to her advertisement 
bad been discouraging. She found all that Doctor 
Clifton had warned her of, painfull}’’ true. Some 
were cold and reserved, leaving her at once after a 
few inquiries — some were quizzical and openly sus- 
picious — which was an almost intolerable torture to a 
nature like hers. Knowing her own integrity, and 
purity of purpose, and feeling the great willingness at 
heart to bear all things for the sake of right, it was a 
sore trial to be looked upon as the world looked on 
her, and suspected of evil she might not combat with- 
out exposure of her most sacred feelings, and the past 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


29 


which she seeking so jealously to hide. More 
had to be borne than she had even dreamed, with her 
worst fears alive, and she began to doubt the pro- 
priety of the step she liad taken in rejecting Doctor 
Olitton’s conditions. Of the two alternatives, she 
found this the bitterest by far, for now crept in the 
terrible fear that her means would all be exhausted 
before she could gain a situation, and then what could 
she do with her child to depend on her? She would 
have to go forth into the world, and perhaps see the 
little creature for whom she was suffering all this pain 
and anxiety, deprived of even the commonest necesi- 
ties of life, and be unable to supply her. The future 
seemed very dark and hopeless, — her strength was 
fast failing beneath the trial, and still she knew not 
what to do, or how to act. Care and loss of rest 
occasioned by her anxiety, was making terrible in- 
roads on her health, and there was also a dread of 
personal illness added to her other troubles. 

But in the midst of all this when she was almost 
ready to sink down helpless and despairing. Doctor 
Clifton came back. His kind heart relented when he 
thought of her distress and loneliness, and the memo- 
ry of her sweet young face lived too vividly in his heart 
for him to abandom her mercilessly to the dangers 
of a world of which she had so little experience. 
After all it was but natural that she should cling to 
her child, and while he felt annoyed at the idea of 
bringing them both into his house, he admired the 
spirit of devoted love that had made her refuse to part 
with the little one; and during a week’s time to re- 
flect upon the matter, had allowed himself to decide 


30 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

in her favor, provided she had been unsuccessful in 
making other arrangements. His mind bad been 
sorely disturbed about her, and after making this 
decision, he felt much better pleased with himselt than 
he had done since he left her. And while under the 
influence of the feeling, he went back to the hotel to 
iucpiire about her. She was still there, they informed 
him, and he sent up his card. 

“ Ah!” he said, as she appeared, looking worn and 
ill. “You have found it as I told yon, I see by your 
face. I declare, you are nearly ill — yonr hand is 
burning with fever 1 How do you get on?” 

“ Badly,” she answered drearily. 

“ It is even worse than you told me, and my strength 
is less to bear it than I thought, though my will is 
unchanged. Oh, I shall ^be ill, and then what will 
become of Ada?” 

“Do not be alarmed,” he returned pityingly re- 
garding the shaking, suffering form of the woman. 
“I have thought the matter over, and have spoken 
with my daughter about you. If you wish to come, 
you may bring your child, and we will see how things 
can be arranged.” 

With a glad cry she caught his hand to her lips 
and pressed it as a little child might have done. His 
eyes filled instantly with tears and the sight of her 
grateful face brought a hearty self reproach. 

“What a cruel old wretch I have been to let yon 
suffer so!” he said wiping his face. “But come, I 
will take you home with me, and make up for it in 
future. Will you go with me now?” 

“Willingly,” she returned brokenly. 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


31 


‘‘ Oh, sir, may Heaven bless you ! I was almost 
ready to doubt God’s goodness, but you have proved 
that it is with me still, even in my weakness.” 

She went up stairs to get her things, and under the 
influence of the generous impulses at work in his 
heart he went out to the office and paid her bill, 
ordered her baggage sent to his residence, and then 
awaited her in theLadies’ Parlor. 

‘‘What a singular interest this woman excites in 
me,” he mused as he waited. “ Idontknow why itis, 
but I suppose its her youth and helplessness. And 
then she is so grateful ! It will be a pleasure to help 
the little thing. But bless me, she is a very child, 
and I almost think I am a fool to place her in such a 
position in my family. What will she do with those 
wild girls ! But never mind, we’ll see.” And so dis- 
missing the perplexities of the present from his mind, 
the Doctor met Mrs. Meredith when she came down, 
and conducted her to his carriage which was waiting, 
telling her that her baggage would be sent after them, 
and he would take her home at once. 

A strange, fatherly sort of feeling crept into the 
good old gentleman’s heart as he seated the lady 
by his side and drove off. Then little Ada’s pure 
eyes looking straight to his with their innocent inquir- 
ing gaze, stirred a yearning tenderness he could not 
have understood, had he not been a hither. With 
that same emotion of tenderness, he had a thousand 
times lifted his own children to his bosom, and now 
with an irresistable impulse, he bent his head to print 
a soft kiss on the upturned brow, and was rewarded 
by a brioht, confiding smile that drew him strongly 


32 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


toward the little ionoceiit being. lie now began to 
wonder that a feeling of repngnance had ever existed 
against the idea of receiving her in his home ; bnt at 
the same time his heart was relenting and swelling 
with sucli tenderness his judgment told him that he 
was acting unwisely in placing a governess over his 
children who had a child of her own to look after and 
claim her time. 

On the way, he spoke of the diiferent ‘members of 
Ids family in a manner which gave, her some insight 
into their characters. Mrs. Meredith listened witli 
great attention, and asked a number of questions 
which betrayed that interest to lier employer, and 
which pleased liim still more, since it spoke well for 
her in the duties that 'waited her in the future. 

Madeline met them with a kind, easy grace that 
warmed her heart toward her at once, and Mrs. 
Meredith’s first thought, as she looked into her sweet, 
quiet face was: ‘‘We sliall be friends, at least.” The 
children were shy and curious with the exception of 
Agnes, wlio after a slight nod when Dr. Clifton pre- 
sented her to her future governess, quietly seated her- 
self in a corner and seemed to pay no further atten- 
tion. Mary, after a shy glance into the pale sweet 
face of the mother, carried off the child to a sofa 
wdiere they soon made friends and began a regular 
game of romps ; Kate was more than usually quiet. 

After a moment, Madeline excused herself and went 
out, but soon returned with a girl who she said, 
would show her up to her room. Ora, as we love to 
call our heroine, rose and taking Ada from Mary with 
a winning smile which warmed the little girl’s heart, 


I 


i 


OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 


33 


went up stairs, whither in a short time Madeline fol- 
lowed. There was a look in the blue eyes of the 
stranger as she went out, that haunted the warm- 
hearted maiden, and her extreme youth and loneliness, 
touched her deeply. Her father had said nothing to 
her in regard to the lady’s history except that she 
was of a good family, and that misfortune had thrown 
her upon her own exertions for support. This was 
enough. Beyond, everything was sacred to herself 
unless she chose to confide in her; but she was sor- 
rowing, and needed sympathy, and at the risk of being 
thought intrusive, she would go up to her room. 

The door stood very slightly ajar, and gently push- 
ing it back, Madeline discovered Mrs. Meredith in a 
far corner of the room with her face hurried in the 
sofa, while smothered sobs, and low broken murmurs 
stirred the silence of the chamber. Ada was clasped 
to her bosom with her right arm, her little wandering 
eyes brimming with tears, her lips quivering with 
distress. The picture was too touching for quiet con- 
templation. With a throbbing heart the gentle girl 
glided to her side and passed her arm about the slight 
form of the kneeling woman. 

‘‘Forgive me if I intrude,” she said with a voice 
laden with loving sympathy, “but I cannot bear to 
see you looking so distressed and lonely. Be com- 
forted. You shall not feel the need of friends here.” 

Ora lifted her head and fixed her brimming eyes 
on the sweet girlish face. There was a glad light in 
them that the tears could not hide, and her voice was 
broken and tremulous as she replied : 

“You mistake me. I do not weep for distress, 


34 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


but for thankfulness. My heart is so full at this unex- 
pected blessing, that words are powerless to express 
what I feel. You do not know what it is to be alone 
and friendless, and to meet with disappointment till 
dispair has well nigh paralyzed every faculty. Per- 
haps I am not fit for what I have undertaken ; but God 
knoweth my will is good, my motives pure, and with 
Ills aid, I will try to merit your kindness. May He 
bless you and your kind father as you deserve. I had 
not hoped for such a haven of rest as this.” 

“ I trust you may find it so, indeed,” replied Made- 
line gently. “’But even here you will doubtless find 
trials. We are not faultless, and you will remember 
that every picture has its light and shade. But we 
do hope you will find more of light than shadow here. 
We will try to make you happy if we can.” 

“ Thank you — you are too good,” murmured Ora 
thoroughly unnerved. “Do not think me altogether 
weak and babyish,” she added after a short pause. 
“ I have suffered so much anxiety lately, that this 
relief has entirely overcome me. I shall soon be my- 
self again.” 

Just then a servant was heard in the hall with her 
trunks, and Ora hastily arose to her feet and went 
toward the glass to brush her hair which had fallen in 
disorder about her flushed face. Madeline went for- 
ward and saw the trunki brought and deposited in 
the room, and then coming back to where Ora stood, 
she said earnestly: 

“ You must tiy to feel at home and satisfied with 
us, and always look upon me as a friend. Can I do 
anything for you ?” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


35 


“ISTothing, thank you.” 

Ora had again to struggle with her tears and did 
not dare trust herself to speak further. But she 
clasped the small white hand of the daughter as she 
liad clasped the father’s, and pressed a grateful kiss 
upon it. Madeline’s eyes filled as she released it, and 
then hastened from the room lest she too should lose all 
self control. A pretty, tidy Irish girl came in soon, 
and said Dr. Clifton had sent her to take care of baby, 
and Ora unpacked her trunk to get at the little one’s 
waydrobe. The girl took the white frock handed out, 
and dressed the child while the lady replaced the 
dress she wore, with an elegant black bombazine and 
crape collar, adding no ornaments than those she 
always wore. 

Madeline came in herself when the tea bell rang, 
and the two ladies descended the stairs together. 

Here the whole family now assembled, including 
Mr. Harry Clifton whose portrait we shall attempt to 
draw for the reader. 

AYhen Mrs. Meredith entered with Madeline, he 
was stretched at full length upon the sofa, his broad 
white forehead supported by a hand, white and deli- 
cate as a woman’s, and on one finger of which sparkled 
a single diamond. His hair was very profuse and 
curling round his head in beautiful glossy rings. 
His brows were high, arched and very dark — his eyes 
in color like his sisters — a deep rich brown — changing 
to a cold, steely gray in moments of passion. His 
nose was slightly aquiline, rather prominent, and 
betrayed the liigh proud nature in the thin, swelling 
nostrils, and the fine lines of the mouth. The cheek 


36 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


bones rose high and firm in their outline, the chin 
heav}^ the lips full, the teeth glitteringly white and 
marvelously beautiful. 

He lifted his eyes only for an instant to the face of 
the young governess as she entered and was pre- 
sented by Dr. Clifton, with one keen, penetrating 
glance that cut her like a knife, and then seemed 
totally to ignore her presence. 

He w^as evidently moody, and took his seat at the 
table in utter silence. The few advances made by his 
father to open a conversation, met with no response 
except merely a respectful acknowledgment without 
warmth. And knowing his son’s peculiar moods, the 
old gentleman abandoned the effort. 

Ora was very ill at ease. A strange nervous dread 
made her quiver till she almost spilled her tea in lift- 
ing the cup to her lips. But she exerted herself 
bravely to hide her constraint, and conversed in an 
ordinary tone of voice, and with an easy, self-possessed 
manner wdth Madeline and her father. 

Mary and Kate were each content to eat in silence. 
Agnes being usually quiet, become no object of atten- 
tion from taciturnity now. But two or three times 
during the meal, Harry Clifton, whose keen eyes took in 
everything without seeming to, discovered a strangely 
baleful light in the girl’s black eyes, and her red lip 
curve with a scornful smile. For an instant his own 
face lighted with a half defined expression of intelli- 
gent interpretation of the child’s thoughts — but in an 
instant afterward, he appeared absorbed in thought. 

Before the others had done, he gravely rose and ex- 
cusing himself passed from the room to his study. 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 37 

Ko comments were made upon him in iiis absence, 
and Ora concluded the grave, almost severe silence he 
maintained, to be too natural to excite remark. As 
soon as she could, she too excused herself on the plea 
of weariness and attention to her little girl — and went 
to her room. 

That night long after the family retired, she lay 
thinking of her new position, her duties, and pain- 
fully reviewing her abilities, to judge if she might 
fulfill them. A thousand misgivings tormented her, 
and. she wondered if they would be kind and patient 
with her amid difficulties. Would Dr. Clifton remain 
her friend — would Madeline remain the kind, gentle, 
thoughtful being she had proved herself in the outset 
of her new career ? Would the children ever learn to 
love her? Here again misgivings intruded upon her 
thoughts. Little fear was there for Mary Staunton. 
A look into the child’s eyes proved her heart hers 
already, but she was not so sure of Kate and Agues. 
And well she knew that everything depended upon 
the successful control of her pupils — and the best con- 
trol, is ever through love. Could she but win their 
love and confidence she had no fears for the future. 
Otherwise, much might be dreaded. 

Thus pondering, she at length fell asleep with her 
little daughter’s bright head nestling upon her bosom. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A WEEK passed away ere Ora Meredith felt herself 
fairl}^ installed in her new home, notwithstanding the 
kindness of its members. It took that length of time 
to wear away the strangeness and newness of things 
around her. Madeline’s kindness and sympathy grew 
with her acquaintance of the young governess, and 
both Mary and Kate were in three days her declared 
friends. Agnes held aloof coldly, as she ever did 
from friends or strangers. Flarry Clifton she had 
not seen more than two or three times, and the old 
gentleman, though much abroad, was almost as in- 
visible at home except when at his meals. Then he 
was kind, genial and almost fatherly in his manner. 
His prepossession in her favor evidently increased, 
and things bade fair to run smoothly. What a sense 
of rest and peace crept into the weary woman’s heart 
as she realized it. Once used to the regular routine 
of affairs, she was now beginning to feel the real 
sweetness of rest and security. 

There was but one thing that really disturbed her, 
and prevented heart and mind from falling into that 
calm which generally follows excitement and unrest* 
This was a knowledge of Agnes’ dislike. She had 
seized every opportunity to win the child to her, but 
beneath hef cold reserve, lurked a stronger barrier 
in the shape of a growing hatred. She had studied 
her carefully, tried to win attention, but found hei 
efforts fruitless in every respect. The little creature 
( 38 ) 


39 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

was an enigma, and she had no key to solve it. 
Here was a seed for future trouble, and unless she 
could master it, and plant it in proper soil she felt 
that it would germinate for evil purposes. 

One morning seated at her desk in the school- 
room, she observed that Agnes sat idly twirling the 
leaves of her book, her eyes fixed upon the branches 
of a tree that stood outside the window. For some 
time she allowed her to remain absorbed in her own 
fancies, and then spoke to her gently. 

“ Agnes you are not studying.” 

“ I know it,” without turning her head. 

“Well, why not?” 

“Because I do not choose to.” 

“ Agnes !” Ora’s voice spoke the pain she felt. 
She was not astonished. She knew that sooner or 
later there must be war between them. The time 
had come. One or the other must conquer. 

The girl turned her brilliant eyes upon the pale 
-sad face of her governess with an expression no 
child should ever wear. It was full of insolent 
scorn, hate and defiance. 

“ Come to me,” said Ora quieting her tone to one 
of calm authority. 

The girl did not heed or move, but kept her eyes 
fixed upon her face. 

“Will you?” 

“No.” 

“Agnes !” 

A low laugh responded. Now the blue eyes of 
the governess grew dark, almost black with intense 
determination. They met the fiery black orbs of the 


40 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


pnpil in a steady gaze, and saw burning there all the 
stronger, more evil passions of her strange nature. 
She knew that her whole soul was roused against her, 
and she must subdue it, and spoke with the resolve 
thrilling through her voice. 

‘‘ Agnes, you must obey me, or I must punish you. 
Come to me.” 

“I will not! you dare not touch me I” Ora rose 
and crossed the room quickly, but with a quiet, even 
step. The tumultuous feelings of pain and anger 
that rose in her heart she put down with a mighty 
effort, that she might bend every energy to one pur- 
pose with steady precision. 

Agnes’ eyes blazed, and she looked like a young 
tigress ready to spring upon its prey as her governess 
approached her; but there was something in tlie 
steady glance of the blue eyes bent on hers, that 
checked her in spite of herself, 

“ Do not touch me,” she gasped, passionatel}". 

“I will call Mr. Clifton.” 

“What is all this?” spoke Harry Clifton at the 
door. His study adjoined the schoolroom, and the 
door being slightly ajar, the voices had attracted him. 
Quick as thought Agnes sprang past Ora’s outstretch- 
ed hand before it touched her shoulder, and stood by 
the young physician. 

“ Do not let that woman touch me ! If she does, I 
shall murder her!” 

Ora turned to face the intruder, and met a glance 
that exasperated her. There was no surprise in his 
face. Only a quiet, half triumphant smile softly 
creeping about his mouth, and yet the brilliant eyes 


41 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

had a slight look of inquiry. She seemed to feel 
their meaning. They said. “ Has this pale, delicate 
little woman enough of nerve and stamina in her to 
put down this young tornado of rebellion ? Let us 
see.” 

“ Mr. Clifton, have you come here to interfere with 
my authority, or support it?” she asked gazing 
straight into his eyes. 

“ Do you need support ?” he asked without a change 
of expression. 

“ No sir,” decidedly. “ If you come not to inter- 
fere, leave me to accomplish my own purposes. 
Miss Montes rebels against my authority. I desire 
to, and must, establish it firmly for her sake and my 
own — for the sake of my other pupils — the duty I 
owe your family in the position I hold. Have you 
anything to say ?” 

There was a flash of feeling on his handsome face 
for one instant, but the nature of that feeling could 
not be determined, it faded so quickly. He answered 
by a question. 

“Do you mean to punish her?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because I have told her she must obey me, or I 
should have to punish her. I have passed my word. 
It cannot be broken.” 

“ You are determined to use severe measures?” 

“ Mr. Clifton.” Ora had to struggle hard to main- 
tain her steadiness and quiet tone of voice. “I wish 
to know distinctly if you came here to interfere with 
me.” 


4 


42 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


“ Supposing I have, what then his tone was al- 
most insolent. 

“Then sir, I must say that you are very wrong in 
the course you are taking. If I cannot control my pu- 
pils entirely as I desire, how am I to gain over them 
a proper influence for good? Understand me, sir, 
I claim this as my domain. I must be mistress here 
or nothing. Allow me to judge of the nature of the 
offences I am called upon to punish, and to punish 
according to my judgment. This I must exact, or 
resign my place.” 

She had said more under the spur of exasperated 
feeling, than she knew to be prudent, but the words 
had gone forth and she would bravely abide the re- 
sult. She felt herself right, and no power could 
shake her purpose. Her position must be firmly 
established or destroyed forever. She would stand 
her ground and endeavor to gain the field. lie 
was regarding her with an unreadable expression, 
and stood silent for a moment after she had done 
speaking. Then he bowed frigidly, saying in cold, 
measured tones. 

“Certainly, madam, I have no right to interfere 
with your authority here, and of course must allow 
that you know how to use it. May I ask, however, 
that you will fully explain the difficulty?” 

Ora explained briefly, and with dignity. He lis- 
tened almost respectfully to her clear statement, then 
with a second bow frigid as the first, turned upon liis 
heel and quitted the room, saying simply : 

“ I leave her to your tender mercies.” 

She heard him enter his room, whistling as if 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


43 


nothing had occurred. Her blood was boiling with 
indignation, until her cheeks were stained crimson 
with the tide, but her quiet, firm manner underwent 
no change, as she again faced the rebellious girl who 
had caused this commotion. The child’s eyes still 
glared defiance, even though she had lost her champ- 
ion. It would be hard to say which of the two were 
strung by a stronger purpose — the child or the wo- 
man. But Ora had gained one victory. She took 
courage for the second. 

“ Agnes, I am very sorry to punish you,” she began 
gently. But you have disobeyed me, defied my au- 
thority — sought to enlist others in your favor against 
me, and, combining the wdiole, leave me to sum up a 
most serious offence. I have told you I should pun- 
ish you, and I must do it, although it pains me deep- 
ly. Indeed the punishment is as severe for me, as I 
can possibly make it for you, for I had hoped better 
things of 3mu. I have tried to make you love mo, 
and through your love, to win you gently to your 
duties, helping you happily through them. You put 
it out of my power by ungrounded dislike. I cannot 
conceive why you should dislike or wish to wound 
mo. When I think how much your friends will be 
pained at this, it pains me doubly, and when I remem- 
ber that you are motherless, the pain increases till it 
becomes a sore and bitter trial to punish you. Yet 
I must do it, because you have disobeyed me, and I 
have said I would punish you.” 

Agnes’ blazing eyes were obscured b}" a mist. 
Had the earnest tones and sincere manner of her 
teacher reached a place in that strange, unchildlike 


44 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


heart? She felt the supremacy of the will she had 
set herself up against, as her subdued manner indi- 
cated, but she was not conquered. She turned her 
back upon her, partly in defiance, partly to hide the 
tears she could not repress. 

Ora took her hand and drew her resistingly to- 
ward her desk. 

“ Now Agnes, I shall banish you from the school- 
room for the remainder of the day. You cannot 
come down to dinner or tea, and I shall keep you 
locked in your room. Dr. Clifton and his daughter 
must be informed of your disgrace, and when you 
come out, you must make up your mind to confess 
your fault and sorrow for it to them and myself 
This is a severe punishment my child, but you force 
me to inflict it. It is always easier and pleasanter 
to do right. Do you not see into what pain and sor- 
row you will cast every member of this family, by 
your willfulness? Surely, you will soon feel sorry to 
have wounded those who love you so much, and de- 
sire only your good.” 

Agnes did not reply, and Ora taking her arm, now 
led her unresistingly from the room. She was con- 
quering. Only a few more judicious movements, 
and the victory would be complete. 

When she reached the room, she did not thrust 
her in angrily, and leave her. But she repeated very 
sadly and feelingly. 

“ Agnes, I am very sorry you have forced me to 
punish you so severely. I can see into your heart, 
my child, and know what I am doing, but I cannot 
help it. Try to conquer the bad spirit that possesses 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


45 


you and give rise to better and nobler feelings. Here 
is your book. You must study your lesson. I will 
come and hear it at noon.” 

She passed out and locked the door without more 
words, and Agnes scowled darkly after her. But 
her gentle, loving, sorrowYul tones were still ringing 
in her ear, and gradually subduing the anger that 
had blazed up against her. For the first time in her 
life, a chord in her heart had been touched, and it 
vibrated to that touch with a strange thrill the child 
could not define. Love and tenderness she had had 
all her life, and had not heeded it because it was 
untempered by firmness and decision. Here she 
found a spirit softened with love, strengthened with 
purpose; and with the inherent sense which compre- 
hends and admires the stronger and nobler powers 
of superior minds, this child of dark and bitter pas- 
sions slowly began to feel the dawn of a better and 
higher nature. 

The narration of the little episode of the morning, 
did cast a shadow over the family circle which Ora 
felt like a child. Madeline’s gentle face grew sad 
and her eyes were full of tears. Dr. Clifton was 
grave, but he said promptly. 

‘‘You did right. We have been perhaps too con- 
scientiously tender with Agnes because she was or- 
phaned and dependent upon us. We do not wish 
her ever to feel her dependence. But there are ele- 
ments in her nature that must either be eradicated 
or subdued, else 1 forsee trouble for her future.” 

“ I am not sure that we have done her a kindness 
by allowing her willful nature full scope. We have 


46 ORA, THE LOST WIFE 

vainly tried to win her. We had no heart to i^niiish 
' her.” 

“ Here is where serious mistakes are often made,” 
observed Ora. ‘‘As much harm may be done by 
mistaken kindness as intentional wrong.” But she 
forbore to add any more, and silence fell upon the 
party. In her recital she had not touched upon the 
part Harry Clifton had played in the affair, and he 
appeared utterly oblivious to the most remote knowd- 
edge, preserving unbroken silence throughout. 

When Ora returned to the schoolroom, he pointed 
over his shoulder after her as she mounted the stairs, 
and said with a smile. 

“ We’ve caught a tartar. Mad. Whew ! you should 
have seen her eyes flash !” 

“Why, did you see it?” asked Madeline surprised. 

“Yes, I went in on her at the outset, hearing the 
rumpus from my study. By George, a Queen might 
have envied her!” and he laughed, a low short laugh. 

“How was it? She represented it rightly,” asked 
Madeline half disturbed. 

“ Perfectly.” 

He then explained what passed, word for word. 
“I am only surprised at her forbearance with me in 
her recital,” he said in conclusion. 

“Here we have more strength of character than 1 
had supposed,” said the Doctor. “ It is a good omen, 
when we take into consideration her loving gentle- 
ness and sweetness of disposition. I think from 
present appearances, we may trust her.” 

“Dont be too hasty my good Father; Aggie is a 
little volcano, and Mrs. Meredith has not succeeded 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 47 

in heaving the stone over the mouth of the crater. 
Wait till she’s conquered.” 

‘‘ I wish she may have a bloodless victory said the 
Doctor.” Madeline was silent. 

‘‘ Well, there’s one thing sure,” added Harry more 
lightly than was his wont. “ There is a queen here, 
and she is pretty sure to exclude trespassers from her 
domains. I for one have no further desire to risk my 
head, and leave her to reign in peace.” 

So saying, he took up his hat and went out. 

Agnes lifted her eyes calmly to her teacher’s face 
when she went up to hear her lessons, and handing 
her the book recited her task without hesitation or 
blunder. Ora contented herself with saying kindly : 
“ That is well,” and marking another lesson, left her 
to herself again. 

At evening, when she went up, she found her with 
a hot, flushed face, and traces of tears on her cheeks 
She had evidently been weeping bitterly, but she 
recited her lesson promptly as before, and- then Ora 
sat down by her in the gathering shades and taking 
the child’s hand, asked softly : 

“ Aggie, are you sorry for your fault?” 

The answer was prompt and candid as the girl laid 
her cheek burning with blushes on her teacher’s knee. 

“Yes, very sorry.” 

Ora’s heart throbbed. “Poor child” she thought. 
“ What a struggle it must have cost her to bring her- 
self to this.” She stooped and kissed her, saying: 

“There is the seal of your forgiveness. We will 
be friends in future, Aggie, not foes, and happiness 
will spring from love.” 


48 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

All, what a subtle power is that which springs 
from kindness. Without knowing it, Ora Meredith 
was slowly gathering up the stray threads of that 
lierce child’s better nature, and winding them about 
lierself in a bond that could break only with death. 
The inherent promptings of the child’s nature lead 
her to despise those whom she could rule, to revere, 
and love the only one whom she had ever seen who 
had used a controlling power over her. 

Much to the surprise of every member of the fami- 
ly, Agnes confessed her fault to Dr. Clifton and Made- 
line on the following morning, frankly, and expressed 
her sorrow. They had never before known her to 
yield lo a will opposed to her own, and give way to 
better feelings. They could not understand it. So 
different — so unlike herself with that shy, yet frank 
maimer, and the hot blushes mantling her cheek 
while she owned her fault. 

Was the teacher a magician, thus to transform her 
in a day ? 


CHAPTER V. 

In the quiet and hush of the evening hour. Dr 
Clifton’s family had strolled one after another into 
the library. Dark clouds drifted without, and an 
occasional patter of rain, made the lire look more 
bright and cheering within. Ora sat in a far corner, 
at the piano, Agnes at her side wrapt in a dreamy 
spell born of sad music. Dr. Clifton reposed upon a 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


49 


lounge at case, while Madeline sat looking listlessly 
into the grate, casting now and then a look of quiet 
interest upon the pale sweet face just outlined against 
the crimson wall paper. The singer’s thoughts must 
have been busy with the past, there was such a low, 
lingering sweetness in her tones. 

Gradually the wandering fingers steadied, and the 
voice which had given forth only brief snatches of 
song^ow swelled out in a touching “ Invocation.” 

Tho’ thine eyes be shaded, and thy cheek be faded — 

I '^'v,^Tho’ the seal of death Ije on thy brow, 

I Still no fate can serer our true hearts forever. 

Tell me love, where dwells thy spirit now? 


Does it rest in stillness, ’mid the gloomy ckillness, 

In the silent chambers of the tomb ? 

Does it wander darkling, ’mid the diamond sparkling. 
In the deep mouthed caverned halls of gloom? 

** Where the boundlesss ocean rolls in ceaseless motion. 
Does it join the dwellers of the deep; 

Do the fairy daughters of the crystal waters 
Lull thee with the sound of streams to sleep? 


By the hopes that perished — by the love we cherished, 

By the smile that ever answered mine — 

C Give, oh, give some token, ere my heart be broken. 

That shall lead my weary soul to thine. 

Madeline’s tears were dropping silently on her 
black dress as the thrilling tones died away in the 
mournful refrain. No words can express the passion- 
ate sweetness of the voice whose power carried the 
words deep into the hearts of her hearers. Even Dr. 
Clifton’s eyes swam in tears, and Agnes stood with her 
little hands clasped, and her bosom heaving with 
wild emotion when it was ended. Kate and Mary 
iiad paused in some light amusement they were about 

5 


50 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


to begin, and wlien the song was finished, stole soft- 
ly from the room witli shadows upon their young 
faces. It brought back, the dead face of a lost 
mother on a tide of melting memories. The others 
thought only of her whose passionate heart had for 
a brief space of, time thrown ofi* the mask of serene 
composure to wail out a plea to some lost one 
for whom it longed. The spell was complete. It 
seemed almost sacrilege to breath a word which 
would dissipate the memory of those sad strains ^ 
which still seemed to stir the air with their tremu- 
lous sweetness. 

It was soon broken, however, by a voice which 
sounded hard and cynical as Harry came in by a side 
door and advanced toward the grate. 

“ ’Pon my word, you all seem to love darkness, bur- 
rowing yourselves in this gloomy place like so many 
mice. What’s the attraction ?” 

“ Oh, brother, it always seems nice and cosy in 
here,” replied Madeline pleasantly, hoping to soften 
the effect of his tones, “ and then Mrs. Meredith was 
singing.” 

“So I perceived as I entered,” he replied dryly. 
“By the way, madam, did it never occur to you to 
make a better use of your voice — on the stage, for 
instance ? It would be a vast difference from the 
dull, plodding life of a governess.” 

His words were insulting, and Madeline spoke 
quickly, with a troubled look. 

“Brother! how you talk! How can you be so 
rude? The stage, indeed !” 

The last words were spoken in a lower tone, but 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


51 


they caiiglit Ora’s ears, wliose heart swelled grate- 
fully. His voice had broken very painfully upon her 
under the influence of the- memories that would rise 
in her heart, and his words stung her with a deep 
sense of injustice and insult; but she answered him 
in a voice as calm and unruffled as usual with a slight 
tinge of coolness she could not repress. 

“ I do not doubt it would be va&tly different as you 
say/ but fortunately, even in misfortune and pover- 
ty, W are still at liberty to choose the mode of labor 
which provides us with breadrN Mine, certainly, could 
not approach to anything liker publicity.” 

“Why, do you fear the public?” he asked with a 
glance of cool affrontery. 

Her brow flushed hotly, but she lifted her eyes 
to his face as she rose and came toward the grate 
with a steady gaze, and scornful lip, saying. 

“ No sir, I should wot fear the public, but I dispisc 
it too much to make of myself a plaything for its 
amusement.” 

The entrance of a servant with cards prevented fur- 
ther remark on his part, and she turned aside with a 
throbbing heart. His wanton rudeness had moved 
her with unusual force. As she turned, she caught a 
full view of Madeline’s face as she took the cards. 
There was a brilliant flush upon her cheek and a light 
in her eyes which spoke volumes as she repeated 
‘Guy Bartoni,’ ‘Charles Lafarge.’ Papa, Guy has re- 
turned.” 

. “Indeed I John, light the gas and show him in 
here. It is warm and pleasant in this room my dear, 
and he is no stranger,” he added to Madeline whose 


52 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

vivid color deepened as lier father thus recognized 
his right to a familiar footing in the familv. Neitlier 
of them noticed the half gasp of the governess at 
the name, nor the ashy paleness whicli overspread 
her features. Harry alone had caught the stifled 
sound of her quick drawn breath and noted the pallor 
of her face as he caught a slight glimpse of her pro- 
flle, and a smile wreathed his lips, while his great 
eyes flashed out a glance of triumph. In a moment 
she had glided unnoticed, except by him from the 
room. 

‘‘ Ah ! there is a web here, eh he half muttered 
under his breath. “ What is it ? Shall we get hold 
of the meshes by and by, and unravel it? We shall 
see.” 

The smile of satisfaction grew broad upon his face, 
lighting it to a look of generous cordiality as he 
smoothed and stroked his cheek softly with a soft 
white hand. The sister mistook it for pleasure at the 
new arrival, and looked grateful and happy. 

A deadly faintness had seized Ora at the sound of 
the first name Madeline had spoken, and she hasten- 
ed from the room to hide the mortal fear that struck 
to her heart like a blow. As she mounted the stairs, 
the gentlemen came out of the parlor and preceded 
by the servant, crossed the hall toward the library 
door. 

Casting one look over the ballustrade as she 
gained the landing, she saw distinctly, two faces 
strongly lighted by the hall lamp. One was dark 
and foreign, with heavy beard and large black eyes. 
The other was fair — almost boyish with dancing blue 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 53 

eyes and a cherry mouth that seemed forever laugh- 
ing amid its dimples. With a low moan, she press- 
ed her hand over her heart and dragged herself 
slowly to her room where she threw herself upon her 
knees beside a chair and buried her face in the arms 
she threw over the cushion. It was an attitude she 
always assumed when in pain. 

How long she remained thus, she could not tell ; 
but at length she was roused by a knock at her door. 
Springing up, she demanded what was wanted in a 
voice which shook slightly in spite of her efforts to 
control it. 

“Master Harry says, will you please come down and 
favor us with some music,” returned John without. 

“ Tell your master that I am not well, and desire 
to be excused,” she replied and as the servant re- 
treated, she clasped both hands over her forehead 
with a gesture of indiscribable pain. 

“ Oh, wdiy does that man seek to torture me?” she 
groaned. “ Insults, taunts and veiled sarcasm is all 
tliat he can give me. Oh, heaven grant that he did 
not observe me when I heard his name. Perhaps he 
did, and has sent for me to further his effort to un- 
derstand why it should move me. But no, it was 
only to add another sting to the insult of to-night and 
I will not seem to take any further notice. What is, it 
that makes him pursue me with hate? Oh, if he 
should discover that Guy Bartoni is known to me, 
wliat may not follow ? I dare not think of it. I seem 
to be holding a cup in which sparkles all the wine 
of life there is left to me. Will his hand strike it 
down and leave me to die of thirst in a wilderness of 


54 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


misery? Oh, why has he come here? How did he 
find that fair young dove whose heart he has won. 
I could see it by the flush on her cheek, and the 
light in her eye ! Can he be her chosen lover ? Oh, 
God forbid ! The Vulture with the Dove— oh, Heav- 
en is too merciful to mate her thus. I should die to 
see her wed him — sweet beautiful Madeline ! Ah, 
what shall I do — how escape his eye ? How shall I 
warn her? Dare I warn her at all? Oh, I am in a 
strait. Father, help me !” 

She had been pacing the floor, and now she fell 
upon her knees. Thus it ever is, in our misery. We 
commune with ourselves until we see our helpless- 
ness, and then we turn to that power without which 
we can do nothing. 

Hours passed before she sought her couch and 
endeavored to close her eyes in slumber. 

It was late before the family left the library. Ora 
upon her knees, had heard the light patter of Made- 
line’s feet as she passed her door; a few moments later 
she had heard the strangers mount the stairs also and 
enter chambers on the same floor with hers. After- 
wards Dr. Clifton passed to his room. It was a half 
an hour later before Harry retired, and then as he 
went by her door, she fancied she heard a low laugh, 
which stilled the beatings of her heart and made her 
blood course through her veins like streams of ice. 
What could it mean? What mischief w^as brewing 
against her that should bring a laugh like that to his 
lips? Oh, were the bright days of peace and rest, and 
the hopes that sprang out of them, about to fade away 
into the dread chaos from which she so lately escaped? 


CHAPTER VI. 


A LIGHT streamed in upon Ora’s face and woke her 
from the disturbed slumber into which she had fallen. 
She rose with a sickening sense of dread, as the 
memory of the preceding night came back to her ; 
and endeavored to perform the duties of her simple 
toilette as usual.* 

But her liead swam and her trembling fingers re- 
fused to perform their office. After several vain at- 
tempts, she realized that she was too ill to sit up, and 
went back again to her couch, feeling, even with all 
her suffering, a sense of relief when she thought 
that this would preclude the necessity of leaving her 
room during the day. 

It was Sunday, and school duties being removed 
from her thought, left her free to nurse her illness 
and lier troubles in the quiet and solitude of her own 
chamber. 

Half an hour passed, and all the rooms had given 
up their inmates. She heard the light, bouyant tread 
of the young housekeeper as she went by her door ; 
afterwards those of the guests as they desended. 
Occasionally a girlish laugh reached her room, and 
she knew that Kate and Mary were enjoying their 
privileges of rising to breakfast with the guests, to 
the fullest extent. When the gentlemen went down, 
the noise suddenly ceased and then all appeared 
very quiet below. 

( 55 ) 


56 


OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 


Ada’s eyes had been open nearly an hour and the 
nurse had succeeded in dressing and carrying her otf 
while her mother yet slept, so that she Avas noAv in 
utter solitude. 

A short time passed, and a serA^ant came up to ask 
if slie Avas coming doAvn to breakfast. She replied 
negatively, and Avhen he had gone, closed her eyes 
wearily and lay still. 

Thought Avas very busy Avith past events, and both 
lieart and brain felt the pressure of contending emo- 
tions. The glimpse of a familiar face and form had 
had the poAver to recall CA^ents she Avould have given 
much to forget ; and noAv the quiet tide of her life Avas 
stirred again to a turbulant flow which might never 
again settle into the blessed calm Avhich for a little 
Avhile bad made it seem so sweet. 

Tears hung on the tremulous lashes that lay on the 
Avhite cheeks, and the masses of broAvn hair scattered 
over the pilloAV, were damp Avith cold dcAvs of sufier- 
ing, Avlien Madeline came in softly and stood over 
her. She had not heard the light tap on the door, 
nor her still lighter step as she entered; and did not 
even feel her presence till a soft, cool hand touched 
her forehead, 

‘‘Oh, you arc ill,” began Madeline in her kind, 
eager, earnest Avay. ‘A¥hy did you not send down 
Avord, and let me come up to you at once?” 

Ora looked up in her face, and smiled a sweet, 
patient smile. 

“You are too good. I do not need anything but 
rest, and Avould never think of taking you from your 
guests.” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 57 

She forced herself to speak indifferently. “ My 
guests could have done without me, for a little while, 
at least,” Madeline replied with a soft blush. Then 
she took some Cologne from the dressing table and 
sat down beside her, bathing her head with the utmost 
tenderness as she continued. 

“ Do you know that I came up here to tell you 
something? Miss Durand used to be my confident 
and adviser in all household matters and I loved 
her very much, but 1 think 1 can speak to you more 
freely than I could have done with her. I am not 
like most young girls. I have no confidants out of 
my own home, and you know that Papa is not the 
most proper confident in all things. So you see, 
being obliged to go to some one, I have come to force 
some sympathy from you.” 

A deeper glow rose to the fair cheeks, as, after the 
half hesitating and apologetic preface, she prepared 
to pour into Ora’s ears, the story of her love and hap- 
piness. 

The lips of her suffering listener, grew more ashen 
in their hue, but the blue eyes unclosed with a brave, 
steady gaze upon the blushing face, and she forced 
herself to listen calml3^ 

“You see it has been a long time since I have 
seen him — ^Guy, I mean — and I was very much sur- 
prised when he came last night. He had written us 
from the West, but his letter never reached us. Two 
years ago, he went across the Plains to California, 
and has just returned. We were betrothed long be- 
fore my mother’s death, but he never said anything 
to her or father about it particularly — I was so young. 


58 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


I knew that my father liked him, though I fear poor 
mamma did not. She never seemed to have the con- 
fidence in him that papa did; but she never said 
anything to me about him. I was too young to think 
of marrying, and I begged him to wait until he 
returned, before much should be said in any way. 
He consented, and so it has stood. We corresponded 
as regularly as possible, and I always had delightful 
letters from him, dated from various places. 

“ I suppose he will want the marriage to take 
place now at an early day.” She went on a little 
more hurriedly. “ But I cannot bear the thouglit of 
leaving papa and the children. They would miss 
me. It is the only draw-back to my happiness. I 
know they can never get along without me, and it is 
folly to think of it for a moment. No one could take 
my place, and Guy has set his heart upon my going 
with him to a beautiful residence on the Hudson^ 
some distance from town. I want your advice, dear 
Mrs. Meredith. What shall I do ? I have not given 
Guy an opportunity to press his wishes, as yet, but if 
he should, what can I say to him in excuse for re- 
maining with papa and the children ?” 

Ora’s position was an extremely delicate and 
painful one, but she replied gently, though with an 
effort. 

‘‘The simple truth, dear Madeline. He cannot 
gainsay your wishes, surely, when he knows that they 
cannot do without you. No one else can fill your 
place, since your mother is gone, and I do not wonder 
at the feelings of perplexity you express. I do not 
like to advise upon so delicate a subject as this, but 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 59 

since you ask me, I confess I cannot imagine how 
they could do without you at present.” 

I am sure they could not,” returned the young girl 
in a tone denoting deep thought. She had appeared 
lost in revery during Ora’s speech, and seemed only 
to have caught the sense of the last words. At length 
she added, rousing herself and speaking positively ! 

“ It is not to be thought of. I will tell Guy that he 
must wait longer. He may demur, but if I am not 
'worth waiting for a while longer, I am not worth 
having. Still, I dread the task of telling him so.” 

She dropped her head thoughtfully upon one hand, 
and Ora surveyed the sober face pityingly. “ Oh, 
Father,” she thought, “surely thou wdlt not let this 
pure, sweet girl be sacrificed by wedding one like 
him. Ah! help me to save her! I cannot bear to 
think of it ! What can I do !” 

A hasty summons from Kate took Madeline hur- 
riedly from the room at this moment, and she did not 
see her again for several hours. 

But she was not forgotten by the ever thoughtful 
girl. A nice cup of tea and some toast came up ; 
and every little while a messenger was sent to know 
if she felt better. 

All day Madeline’s cheeks wore the rich color it 
had assumed during her little narrative of the morn- 
ing, and her manner was slightly confused at times, 
as if nervous with the dread she had expressed. 
Harry Clifton’s eyes shot rouguish glances at her 
occasionally, which served only to increase her con- 
fusion, seeing which, he at last forbore, and left her 
in peace for the time being. The family all went to 


60 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

church in the afternoon, accompanied the two 
gentleman, and after their return, household matters 
occupied her till after dinner, which served to relieve 
Madeline till evening, from the dreaded tHe-a tUc. 

At length, however, Harry and the younger gentle- 
man started off to the smoking room to enjoy their 
cigars, and Dr. Clifton betook himself to the Library. 
The little girls went up to the nursery to have a romp 
with Ada before bed time, and the two were left 
alone. 

It was a moment longed for as much by one as 
dreaded by the other, for he went up to her instantly, 
caught lier hand, then drew her close to his bosom 
where she hid her face, now dyed to the forehead, 
with crimson. 

“ Oh, Lina, how cruel you have been to me all this 
long day,” he said reproachlully. “ I have been 
dying to hold you here, where I have so longed, for 
two weary years, to fold you close, close to my heart ; 
and yet you hold yourself aloof now that I have 
come back, and given me no opportunity to say a 
dozen words to you alone. Look up, darling, and tell 
me — do you love me now as when we parted ? Are 
you still mine ?” 

“ As ever, dear Guy,” she lifted her face from his 
bosom and attempted gently to withdraw herself from 
his arms. “ You do not deem me capable of change, 
I hope. Until I know you unworthy, you will ever 
hold the first place in my heart above all others.” 

“ Then tell me why you have avoided me so scru- 
pulously?” he questioned holding her fast and again 
drawing her within his embrace. “ I have even tried 


OKA, THE LOST WIFE. G1 

vainly to catch your glance to reassure me. Last 
night I fancied this sweet face, the face of an angel, 
it was so radient with joy. To-day, however, I have 
been almost tempted to believe mj^self deceived, you 
were so cold and distant.” 

“ Oh, no I not distant or cold, dear Guy I Only 
perplexed.” 

“ And why perplexed ?” 

She looked up frankly, and with a confiding sweet- 
ness in her manner, beautiful to see, as she replied 
lowl3^ 

“ Because I remembered that in the last letter I 
ever received from you, you told me when you came 
back, it would be to claim me at once for your 
wife—” 

“ And so I shall,” he interrupted. “ I must have 
my bride now, without delay. Surely I have waited 
long enough. You do not mean to put me off again, 
do you Madeline ?” 

“ I must, indeed I must.” 

His brow clouded, and an expression of pain swept 
over her face as she observed it. 

“And why must you? Explain Madeline. You 
])rofess to love me, and I cannot understand what can 
come between us when this is so. Your father has 
long known of our attachment, and favors our union. 
With mutual love and his approval, what excuse can 
you bring?” 

My father’s lonely helplessness — my sister’s need 
of me. Guy, my mother is taken from us, you well 
know. In niy poor way, I have tried hard to fill Iier 
place, and though I know how far short my efforts 


62 


OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 


have fallen I still know that they would miss me 
here, next to her. What could they do without me ? 
Ah, Guy, I cannot leave them yet. My duty is here, 
and I must not selfishly pass over it, much as I would 
like to gratify you.” 

“ Gratify me !” his tone was almost scornful in its 
bitterness, and Madeline looked at him, startled — al- 
most affrighted. He put her from him and strode 
back and forth through the room. 

“ Oh,” he said bitterl}^, “ I had never expected this. 
After all this long waiting, I came back to you, my 
heart glowing with happiness at the thought of call- 
ing you mine. Then you come to me, and tell me 
still to wait. Plead a duty another might perform, 
and expect me to listen to it patiently !” 

A low sob replied to this outburst, and he went 
quickly to the sofa where she had sank and cov- 
ered her face with her hands to hide the tears she 
could not repress. 

“Forgive me, Madeline, if I pain you; but I can- 
not bear the thought of again dragging through lone- 
ly, weary years without you. The disappointment of 
the moment made me forget myself. I did not mean 
to wound you, darling. Tell me that you did not 
mean it — that you were only trying me, to test my 
love.” 

“ Ah, no Guy ! I am no trifler, you well know I 
have faith in your love, and would gladly be your 
wife to-morrow, could I leave my poor father, and 
the darling children my dying mother confided to 
my care. It pains me to disappoint you. Still I 
must do it. I have thought a great deal about it, 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


63 


and tlie more I think, the more I feel the sense of 
duty which hinds me here. If I could stay with them 
after our marriage, it would he different, hut that, you 
liave always given me to understand, I must not ex- 
pect to do. Therefore the only way left me, is to say 
‘ wait until I can leave then safely.’ I cannot do it 
now.” 

The interview was long, and very painful to the 
devoted girl whose love and duty were thus divided. 
The lover became more earnest as she persisted in 
her refusal. He was angry and persuasive hy turns, 
hut she remained firm, and they parted in mutual 
trouble. Madeline carried an aching heart and tear 
wet face to her pillow that night. Guy was angry and 
impatient. He was both impulsive and selfish, and 
could ill brook opposition to his wishes. In Madeline 
he had expected to find a pliant subject, and her 
firmness surprised and galled him. He left her a 
wild, gay and very loving girl. He came back to 
find her a strong, firm woman; with a depth of 
thought and purpose, beyond his most extravagant 
ideas. He did not like the change. Woman, accord- 
ing to his views, ought never to have a wish, except 
through their husbands, and he wanted his wife to be 
his slave, not his companion on the footing of an equal, 
with wishes and opinions independent of his own. 

Strange as it may seem, on reflection, the world 
claims a very large class of men with the same ideas — 
much too large for the happiness of that portion of 
the opposite sex, who are in every way fitted to 
stand on an equal footing, morally and in an intellec- 
tual sense of the word. 


CHAPTER yil. 


Monday morning found Mrs. Mericletli at her post, 
but she looked pale and ill, so that her excuses for not 
"Agoing below stairs, were readily accepted by all the 
family. Unsuspecting, none except the ever watch- 
ful Harry, could see a deeper motive in her with- 
drawal, than to avoid meeting strangers while feeling 
too ill to mix with society. But the one hasty glimpse 
of her pallid face and wild eyes on the announcement 
of the visitors, had roused his interest to an intense 
degree. He knew that there was cause connected 
with them lor the course she was pursuing, and he re- 
solved to fathom the mystery. His first attempt proved 
futile. 

‘‘ By the way Guy ” he had remarked to Bartoni at 
breakfast, “ you have been in St. Louis a great deal. 
Did you ever, when there, meet with a Mrs. Merideth?” 

“ Merideth ? Ko, I cannot remember that I ever did. 
Why do you ask I ” 

“ O, a casual question. My sister’s governess came 
from there, and having once, undoubtedly, moved in 
the more refined circles of society, I thought you might 
possibly have known her.” 

‘‘ I think not I have no reccollection of such a 
person.” 

Conversation changed to various subjects, but had 
little life in it. Madeline looked sad though evidently 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


65 


striving to appear cheerful. Barton! was in no mood 
for talking more than politeness required, and the 
Doctor was sober and thoughtful. In the sad face of 
hi§ child and the discontented one of her suitor, he 
read the difficulty between them, and it disturbed his 
usual happy flow of spirits. He could not see a cloud 
upon the beloved face of his devoted child without 
acute pain ; and the very cause of her sadness, en- 
deared her to him but the more. In her self-denying 
love, he saw a new beauty of character which exalted 
her. An intense and proud admiration mingled with 
the warm emotions of paternal afiection stirring in 
his bosom. Now more than ever, he felt how deep 
would be the loss, were she to go from his flreside. 
The very thought brought a mist to his eyes which he 
brushed aside hastily to keep watchful eyes from ob- 
serving. 

After breakfast, Harry and Charles Lafarge, who 
appeared the sole exception to the general depression, 
strolled oif together, and the Dr. prepared for his 
usual round of professional visits. On leaving the 
room, Barton! had craved a private interview, but he 
felt himself unequal to it in his present state of mind, 
and put him off till his return. The lover submitted 
with a bad grace, and went to his room, and kissing 
the little girls, the Doctor sent them up to their govern- 
ess, dismissed the servants, and turned to his daughter. 

Well, my child, how is it ? Must I give you away?” 

“No, no, dear papa ! not now ! I cannot leave you 
and my darlings yet,” she replied eagerly, but in tear- 
ful sorrow. “ I could not be so selfish as to think of 
it.” 


6 


66 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


‘‘Then I must tell Guy I cannot spare you ? He 
cannot be kept long in suspense. You wish me to say 
to him when I grant him the interview promised, that 
I cannot give you up 

“ Yes, dear father, it is my sincere wish. It dis- 
turbs him very much, and I feel sorry to disappoint 
him, yet it must be so. Be gentle and kind with him, 
father, but be decided.” 

“ Suppose he will not take my refusal, or resigns 
his suit in consequence ?” 

“ Ah, no ! he could not do that — at least, if he loves 
me, he would rather wait than give me up,” she cried 
in a startled way. “ If he could, his love would not 
be the treasure I have deemed it. I will not think 
such a thing of him.” 

The Doctor smiled. Such is woman’s devotion. 
She will not believe anything unworthy the object of 
her love, till it is proved to her unmistakably ! 

“AYell, my love,” he said after a little pause. “I 
will do as you wish, the more readily since I feel how 
utterly miserable we should all be to lose you. But it 
pains me to see you thus sacrificing yourself for us. 
We ought to be more unselfish. 

“ No, no, best, dearest of fathers ! you have never 
been guilty of a selfish thing ! It is my earnest wish. 
I could not be happy even with him, and know that 
you needed me, and I far away. Only try to soften 
this disappointment for liim, and my heart will be 
lighter. He feels it so keenly!” 

Her eyes were full of tears, the lips quivering with 
grief. Dr. Clifton drew her to his heart. 

“ My brave, generous, noble-hearted child ! IIow 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 67 

can I ever repay such unselfish devotion ! God bless 
yon!” 

“ All ! He has blessed me with a dear good 
father, whose comfort is above all things, whose hap- 
piness it is my joy and pride to promote. How could 
I leave you now, with these little, untrained chil- 
dren on your hands ? What could you do with them ? 
He must wait till Kate is old enough to take my 
place.” 

The conference of the afternoon was long and trying 
to poor Madeline who waited in painful suspense to 
hear the result. After her father and lover had been 
closeted for an hour, they sent for her, — a summons 
she obeyed in great fear and trembling. 

Both gentlemen looked up as she entered and the 
smiles upon their faces somewhat reassured her. 

“ Come here my daughter,” said the Doctor pleas- 
antly. ‘‘We have made an amicable settlement of 
this little matter, which needs only your co-operation 
to render it complete. Guy has consented to remain 
with us, and make this house his home, if you will 
name an early day for the wedding, which leaves you 
still in the same position toward us, as heretofore. 
What do you say ?” 

She looked at Guy, whose eyes pleaded for an affirm- 
ative response, and with a blush and smile, she laid 
her hand in his.' The old man breathed a deep sigh 
of relief. A load was taken from his heart. 

“Ah ! this is as it should be ! How I can see my 
child happy, and have all of you with me ! But, pussy, 
you have no idea what a vast amount of argument I 
had to use to bring him round to my side of the ques- 


68 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


tioii. I am out of breath, exhausted! I leave you to 
punish him fur his cruelty.” 

So saying, he took himself off, his face all aglow 
with happiness and genial humor. Guy clasped the 
girl to his bosom and murmured, — 

“See how much I love you, my Madeline! I give 
up the long cherished dream of years, for the joy of 
calling you mine without delay. Now, darling, name 
the day, and make the time very short, for 1 cannot 
bear to wait.” 

Thus we leave them in the broad sunlight of re- 
stored happiness, while we look in again upon our 
heroine. 

The children had flung their books aside for the 
day, and bounded joyously away, glad to be free, and 
the teacher with a faint sigh of relief, closed her desk 
and bowed her head upon it. She was very weary. 
On this day, her duties had been more than usually 
trying. She could not concentrate her thoughts upon 
the work before her, and bring them from the dark 
chaotic pool into which they were constantly flying. 
Agnes had observed her absence of mind and depres- 
sion, but attributing it to illness, thought only of try- 
ing to lighten her labors by more than usual care; 
while on the contrary, Kate and Mary seized their 
advantage to become more careless and mischievious 
than ever.” 

For a quarter of an hour. Ora sat still in her place, 
the sunlight streaming in upon her hair, and lighting 
it to a glorious radiance. She was so still, an observer 
might have thought her asleep, but for the occasional 
shudder that passed over the Blight frame. Agnes 

* 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


69 


who had come back, stood several minutes by her 
side, before she ventured to touch her arm and attract 
her attention. 

‘‘Wliat is it, dear?” she asked looking up wearily. 
“Why have you come back instead of going to play 
with the girls ?” 

“ I could not go with them when you looked so sick 
and in trouble, dear Mrs. Merideth. I feel too sorry 
to play.” 

The child’s earnest tones of sympathy touched the 
troubled, longing heart ol' the woman. She drew her 
to her side with an impulse of strong affection. 

“Dear little Agnes! supposing I am sick, and in 
trouble, what could you do for me? Go, darling, and 
play. Do not let a thought of me mar your pleasure.” 

“ Oh, please, dont send me from you. You know I 
am not like them, and dont care to play as they do. 
I had rather stay with you. Besides, I dont want to 
go where I may see that man.” 

“ What man do you mean,” asked Ora in surprise. 

“The tall, dark man they call Guy Bartoni. He 
makes me shudder whenever I look into his eyes. I 
feel dreadfully when I am where he is.” 

“ Why, Agnes, what makes you ? Why should he 
make you feel badly ?” 

“ I do not know. But I am sure there is something 
in it. He is not a good man. Can you imagine how 
people feel when a snake looks into their eyes and 
charms them ? Well, I feel just so when he looks at 
me. Oh, I cannot bear it!” 

She shivered and drew closer to the side of her 
teacher.” 


70 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


“ Dont talk so, my child. You do not know what 
3^11 are saying. Mr. Bartoni is ^mur guardian’s friend 
and guest, and you must try to banish such groundless 
fancies,” said Ora, concientiously striving to put aside 
her own feelings and bring the child to 'discard her 
antipathy. But Agnes was strong in her expression 
of loathing, and no power could remove her dread 
and dislike. 

For the first time. Ora observed that she held in her 
hand a sheet of music. She took it from her and 
looked at it. It was an air from Trovatore. 

“ What are you doing with this, Agnes ?” 

“Trying to learn it. I was in the music room just 
now, but I could not quite get it all right. Wont 3^11 
please show me how to sing this part?” 

She pointed to a difficult part in the music, and 
looked up wishfully. 

“ Certainly dear, but I’m afraid it is most too hard 
for you. What made you choose this piece ?” 

“ Because I liked it better than any other piece I 
know. It suits my feelings.” 

“ Ko, no, Aggie. Dont say that. It is too sad a 
cry for this little child heart of yours to understand. 
You mistake your love for music, for sympathy wdth 
the sentiment of the song. Come, I will teach you.” 

They went out together, and in a few moments her 
rich, full tones swelled out in the most touchino’ of 
Yerdi’s matchless compositions. “ A/i Che La Mov- 
ie .^” The child’s voice chimed in with hers, 

clear and sweet as a bell, with a promise in its present 
power, of a glorious development in the future. Ora 
was surprised. She had often observed her love for 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


71 


music, and noted with pleasure her rapid progress. 
But never before had such passionate feeling rung 
through the child’s tones as thrilled her now. 

“Oh ! I know just how any one would feel to say 
such words,” cried Agnes when they had finished. 
“ I went to the Opera once with Madeline, and I cried 
bitterly when this part was sung.” 

She placed her finger upon the words — 

Out of the love I bear thee, 
y Yield I my life for thee! 

'' Wilt thou not think — 

Wilt thou not think of me? 

^Oh! fare thee well, my Leonora, fare thee well.” 

“I could scarcely breathe! Oh, if one I love so 
much, were to leave me, I should die I” and from the 
earnest, passionate tones in which she uttered the 
W'ords, Ora knew that she felt what she expressed. 

“Ah me !” she sighed inwardly. “ Poor, strongly 
loving, passionate little heart 1 What bitterness may 
be in store for you, should you ever find one on whom 
your affections may rest!” 

At this moment Madeline came in upon them, wear- 
ing a look of radient happiness. Ora’s heart beat 
heavily. What was coming now. Her prophetic 
fears spoke but too truly. 

“ Come, into my room a little while, please” she 
begged slipping her arm around her with loving con- 
fidence. I want to talk to you.” 

For a moment Ora struggled with the feelings that 
threatened to overpower her. Then she bade Agnes 
go down stairs and stay with the girls, and went away 
with her eager companion. 


72 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

Madeline in the excess of her happiness, seated her, 
and threw herself in childlike abandon at her feet, 
resting her fair face upon her lap while she clasped 
both hands in hers. 

‘‘Ah! it is so nice to have somebody to talk to 
when we are too happy to contain ourselves ! I am 
so glad that I can make a friend of you, and not feel 
that I am losing my dignity by treating you as an 
equal. For you are indeed my superior, in every re- 
spect, and are so good and patient always, I must love 
you. But, here I am running on without saying what 
I brought you to hear ! I am so glad its all over. 
Oh, I was so heart sick last night ; so sad and fearful 
to-day 1 Guy was so disappointed and angry when I 
told him that I could not leave my father, and said so 
many bitter things. He is so impulsive, he cannot 
bear opposition. But he had a long talk with papa, 
and now it is all right. He will stay here — all of us 
can live together, and I can be with my dear charges 
till they no longer need me! Ah ! I am so glad. I 
have had to make him a promise for an early wedding 
in consequence of his yielding to papa’s request to 
stay here, and we are to be married early in the spring.” 

She did not see the deathly hue of the face above 
her, and was too absorbed in her own thoughts to note 
the trembling of the lingers threading her hair. And 
so, while the pale lips closed in mute agony, repress- 
ing the cry that rose from her heart, the young girl 
went on with her story, telling her of the plans formed 
for future happiness, and the many glorious prospects 
spread out before them. 

It was quite dark ere she had done and rose to go 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


73 


below, so that she did not see the strained look of 
suffering upon the face before her, in the dim light, 
and she left her, unconscious of the misery she had 
awakened. 

On separating from his betrothed, Guy had gone up 
to his room, his thoughts divided between pleasure 
and discontent. Could good Dr. Clifton have looked 
into the man’s heart, and seen the secret motives which 
prompted his actions, he would have shrank shudder- 
ingly from committing his child to the care of such a 
being. 

Bartoni, was as his name indicated him, of Italian 
descent. His father was a native of Italy, coming from 
a family of great wealth and influence. He boasted a 
long line of titled ancestry, of which he was very 
proud, but his father had fallen in love with the coun- 
try in which he took a fancy to travel, and one of her 
fair daughters captured his affections. He married in 
How York and died shortly after the birth of his only 
son. Mrs. Bartoni remained with her relations after 
his death, and as the boy grew up, gave all her atten- 
tion to his education. She was a very kind, indulgent 
mother, and the strong passions transmitted from 
father to son, made her at an early period of his life, 
the slave to his wishes and whims. And so, growing 
up thus uncontrolled and unrestrained by steady hands, 
at twenty, he was as wild and willful as it was possi- 
ble for him to be. Hothing but a strong element of 
pride in his nature, saved him from open recklessness. 
Shortly after his twentieth birthday his mother died, 
and the funeral rites were scarcely ended, ere he left 
the city for parts unknown. 

7 


74 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


Two years passed away, and he came back. A 
change had come over him. He was less wild, more 
steady and manly than heretofore, and his friends grew 
very hopeful over this good omen. Nothing trans- 
pired to change the favorable light in which he suc- 
ceeded in placing himself, and when he saw Madeline 
Clifton, and sought to engage her interest, the Dr. 
had quietly suffered it, feeling that he was safe in 
doing so. 

Still we have seen the course she had pursued, and 
know how it was that the marriage did not take place 
at the time. She pleaded her youth, and won his 
promise to wait in silence. He went to California in 
the interval, but of that portion of his life during his 
absence, no one knew anything beyond what was sur- 
mised from his letters. This, however proving satis- 
factory, no one sought to know more. 

In returning, he had brought with liim a friend, 
Charles Lafarge, who he said, had shared his wander- 
ings amid strange scenes. They were inseparable. 
He spoke glowingly of his position, possessions and 
talents, and the bright, handsome face of the stranger 
did the rest. Three days had not passed, ere he be- 
came a general favorite. 

We have said that Barton i sought his rootn, his 
mind divided between pleasure and discontent. The 
grim smile upon his dark features certainly betokened 
satisfaction as he threw himself upon a lounge and 
tossed the masses of raven hair away from his face, 
muttering half audibly: — 

“ Pretty sure thing, though I Guess I can stand the 
terms for a while, when the bird is safe in my hands. 


75 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

Leave a little time to transfer it to a cage of my 

own choice, when the old man’s purse strings have 
yielded Iiandsomely to my wants. By Jupiter, Made- 
line is a handsome — yes, a queenly girl ; but duced if 
I dont take some of the spirit out of her when she is 
safely my own. I yield now I We’ll see who gives 
in six months hence!” 

And it was to this man, Dr. Clifton was about to 
give his Pearl beyond price ! To this man she had 
given her sweet, pure love I 

Suddenly upon the stillness, broke strains of rich, 
entrancing melody. With the first notes, he started 
to a sitting posture and listened intently, scarcely 
moving till the last tones melted away in the stillness. 
Then he breathed heavily and exclaimed I 

“There can be but one voice on earth like that! 
Surely, I would know it amongst a thousand ! Yet, 
how absurdly I am talking! It were impossible for 
her to be here. But who is it, then ? Ah ! I have it ! 
The Governess ! I remember a child’s voice accom- 
panying hers. Besides I heard the family speak of 
lier glorious voice. No wonder. But what a won- 
derful resemblance. I could almost have sworn that 
it was Glendora’s.” 

He heard Madeline’s voice as they came out of the 
music room and went down the corridor and eager 
for a glimpse at the stranger’s face, looked cautiously 
through the door. He was too late, however, to catch 
anything but a glimpse of the two forms as they dis- 
appeared in Madeline’s chamber, and turned away 
disappointed. 

“I must be mistaken,” he muttered. “She is a 


76 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


visitor, doubtless, I cannot think of Madeline on such 
familiar terms with the childrens’ governess ! I must 
find out who she is.” 

This little incident awakened a new train of thought 
which he indulged, pacing slowl}^ back and forth 
through his room till the servant came in to light the 
gas. Then he took from his trunk materials for writ- 
ing, and remained thus engaged, till summoned to tea. 

On going below, he glanced around as if expecting 
to see some one. Madeline observed it with a look 
of inquiry, and he said smiling : 

‘‘I thought you had a visitor. I heard such sweet 
music a little while since,' I was tempted to hope for a 
repetition. Who was the fair songstress?” 

‘‘That was Mrs. Meredith. She does sing very 
sweetly. 1 do not wonder you were charmed. I 
never hear her sing without tears springing to my 
eyes. Her expression is matchless. She makes you 
feel every word she utters, and evidently feels them 
more keenly herself. I would give anything for her 
musical talent.” 

“ Or an equal portion of your own” laughed her 
father. “How is she, my daughter? I have not seen 
her to-day. She was complaining yesterday ?” 

“ Somewhat better, I think, but far from well. She 
has been in the schoolroom all day, and looks pale 
and tired. I hope she wont get ill, from over exer- 
tion.” 

Guy looked surprised. He could not understand 
the deep interest expressed in a mere governess, much 
less the close intimacy of his affianced bride with one 
occupying so inferior a position. 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


77 


“She must be a prodigy,” he remarked somewhat 
dryly, “to elicit such praise and awaken such interest. 
Who is she ?” 

“ The lady of whom I spoke the other morning, as 
a former resident of St. Louis” said Harry in reply, 
without waiting for others to speak. She appears to 
be creating a commotion. Father and sister Mad 
were her sworn allies from the beginning ; Kate and 
Mary soon succumed to her charms. Little black eyed, 
tornado Aggie, was harder to manage. She was 
never known to love anybody in her life, but after a 
certain time, there was war between two opposing 
forces. The governess proved the stronger of the two, 
and brought the little rebel to terms most extraordi- 
nary. She now worships her very footsteps. I am 
the only unconquered reprobate of the family I believe, 
and am patiently waiting my turn.” 

He spoke lightly, but he knew he was interesting 
his auditor by the expression of his face, and hoped 
thus to catch a clue to the mystery he was endeavor- 
ing quietly to solve. 

“ Why, really, sir,” observed Mr. Lafarge, “ ^mur 
governess becomes quite a heroine. Does she asso- 
ciate with the family ? I am becoming curious to see 
her.” 

This was what Harry wanted. He hoped thus, 
without seeming to desire it, to bring about a meeting. 
Dr. Clifton furthered his wishes unconsciously. 

“We will ask her to come down, if she feels able, 
and favor us with some music. I enjoy her singing 
very much, and have a proof that you will, also Guy, 
by your remark a few moments since. Mr. Lafarge 


78 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

has yet to judge from personal knowledge, if it is to 
his taste.” 

‘‘ I shall certainly be glad of the opportunity,” re- 
turned the gentleman. “ You quite interest me.” 

A little silence fell upon the party gathered round 
the board, broken at length by a cry that startled 
them as by the shock of an earthquake, it was so wild 
and piercing. It came from above, and Madeline 
without apology sprang through the door and darted 
up the stairway. The cries continued, proceeding 
from Ora's room. Dr. Clifton followed more slowly. 
Harry remained with the guests, in breathless sus- 
pense to learn the cause of the alarm. 

The scene presented to Madeline’s view on entering 
the chamber, was one of wild confusion. Ada sat 
screaming in childish terror upon the floor, while her 
nurse supported the head of the fallen mother upon 
her lap. Ora lay pale and still as if death had smit- 
ten her with one blow from the fair scenes of life, a 
crimson stream pouring over the purple lip and stain- 
ing the carpet by her side. Agnes stood over her 
with locked hands and rigid features. Terror and 
anguish had deprived her of speech after the first wild, 
agonized screams that had brought the family to the 
scene. 

Oh, Father of mercies !” ejaculated the girl as she 
hastily bent over the prostrate form. “What is this ? 
How did it happen ? Tell me, some of you. Can you 
speak, Agnes? Father, father, come quickly!” 

“ Here I am” said the Dr. entering. “ Why, what 
does this mean ? Ah 1 a hemorrage ! Help me, daugh- 
ter, to lift her on the bed. Hold up her head nurse, 


ORAj THE LOST WIFE. 79 

till I can lift her in my arms. There, that is 
right.” 

The}^ laid lier on the couch, and with great prompt- 
ness, the old man applied restoratives. A crowd was 
round the door. He ordered every one kept out, and 
enjoined quiet. 

Kate and Mary, go down stairs my children, and 
nurse, take that child from the room. Agnes, go with 
them. Go, Madeline, and send John to me to get 
what I want. Tell them down stairs that it is not 
anything very serious, I hope. Then come back to 
mo. Above all, do keep things quiet. I hate such 
confusion.” 

His orders were obeyed promptly by all save Agnes. 
She crept into the shadow of the curtains and remained 
like a statue, her acute senses alive to every word and 
action that might indicate hope or despair. 

In a short time the hemorrage was stopped and the 
sufferer opened her eyes languidly. The Dr. bade her 
be quiet in very kind tones ; told her that her recovery 
depended on her silence, and strove to re-assure her 
by his maimer, in every way. A look of gratitude 
swept over the white face, and a mist obscured the 
dark orbs, but she remained perfectly still as he di- 
rected. 

Then from Jane, the girl’s story, as repeated to 
Madeline after being sent out, he learned how it all 
happened. 

After giving Ada her supper, she had carried her 
into her mother’s room to undress and put her to bed. 
She thought the lady looked very pale as she lay upon 
the sofa, but as she was always pale, she had not paid 


80 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


particular attention. Ada had clambered up for a 
kiss where she was lying, and Mrs. Merideth raising 
herself to a posture more suited to her efforts, sud- 
denly pressed her hand over her bosom as if in acute 
pain. A fit of coughing followed, and she got up 
and started across the room toward the dressing table. 
When about mid way, she paused, uttered a faint ciy, 
and fell to the floor as if dead — the blood pouring 
from her mouth in a stream. 

The first cry of alarm, was from the girl, and had 
attracted Agnes who had never left the Music Room. 
The child’s screams had reached the dining room and 
brought Madeline and the Dr. to the spot. 

Toward midnight, a burning fever set in. Made- 
line who had insisted on watching the sufferer the first 
part of the night, summoned her father who shook his 
head uneasily. He did not like the symptoms. As 
he feared, a dangerous illness ensued which threatened 
to terminate the existence of the patient. 


CHAPTER YIII. 


A WEEK had passed away since the incident which 
had occurred to disturb the regular routine of life in 
the Clifton Mansion. The naorning after the catastro- 
phe, the visitors left, cutting their visit much shorter 
than they had expected to do under the circumstances 
prevailing. The portion of Guy’s relations with 
whom he was on intimate terms, were absent on a 
European tour. Those still in town, had been es- 
tranged from him by an old, boyish freak, leaving him 
under the necessity now, of going to his own lonely 
residence on the Hudson or taking up lodgings in a 
Hotel. He preferred the latter, and on Tuesday after- 
noon both himself and friend were snugly installed at 

the A where they intended to remain until the 

return of his aunt’s family, who were expected home 
in a few weeks. 

Dr. Clifton was unremitting in his care of the inva- 
lid. Madeline devoted. But she lay scorched with 
fever and wild in delirium. The hearts of the watchers 
ached with the piteous wailings that issued from the 
parched lips of the sufierer. Sometimes they were 
startled by the wild bursts of agony that escaped her, 
and incoherent ravings of a murdered child. She 
seemed to fancy herself the mother of a beautiful 
boy, for whose life she pleaded in passionate vehe- 
mence. Then she would wail out that he was dead 
(81) 


82 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


and that her heart was broken. Often slie fancied 
herself in a wilderness, with her child in her arms, 
helpless to get out. She would call upon friends to 
come to her, and save her. Then she was whirling 
over strange lands, and amid strangers. But all this 
was so wildly confused, no clue could be gained as to 
a fixed meaning, and they termed it but the distor- 
tions of a fevered, unsettled imagination. 

On the sixth night. Dr. Clifton pronounced a crisis 
at hand. A young lady friend who lived next door, 
kindly shared the anxious vigil, and the three forms 
of the watcliers looked like so many statues, as the 
hour of midnight approached. Madeline sat upon 
the side of the couch, her eyes bent upon the pale, 
thin face. Dr. Clifton beside the bed clasping one 
tiny hand, his fingers on the faint, fluttering pulse. 
Miss Gerhard sat a little apart, but wearing an ex- 
pression of anxious interest awakened by the many 
enthusiastic praises she had heard from Madeline 
and the children, of their lovely governess. 

With a low moan the sick woman tossed up her 
hands and an expression of scorn and anguish swept 
her features. The great dark blue eyes fixed as if 
upon some hated object, and blazed resentment as 
she broke forth passionately. 

“ Away sir, and never dare to speak to me again ! 
The very sound of your voice is pollution ! I would 
have you know, sir, that lonely as I am, neglected, 
scorned, if you will, I am still able to defend myself 
from insult, and will do it. Go from me this instant.” 

Dr. Clifton looked up quickly at his daughter whose 
face was the picture of angelic pity. He was begin- 


0 R A , T II E LOST WIFE. 


83 


ning to see more than the mere images presented 
through the medium of delirium, while she was still 
blinded by ignorance. A rememberance of her 
brief history before she came to them, connected 
this fragment with it, vaguely, it is true ; but still 
definitely enough to convince him that she was re- 
tracing in feverish paths, the footsteps trodden in 
her past life. 

“ Ah,” she again murmured — now sadly and bro- 
kenly ‘‘ Edward, Edward ! but for you, I had never 
been thus exposed to insult and wrong. Oh, -what 
has come over you — where is your pride and self- 
respect, thus to leave me to struggle alone with diffi- 
culties !” 

The revelations were becoming too marked and 
painful, and the good old physician administered a 
potion hastily, to quiet her ravifags, while Madeline 
with a soft sponge, gently bathed the white brow 
from which the beautiful hair was tossed back in 
luxuriant waves and scattered upon the pillow. They 
could not bear to sever this wealth of beauty from 
her head, and had striven with all care to save it, suc- 
ceeding by keeping napkins, wet in ice water, laid 
over the hot brow. 

In a few moments she became quiet and lay still. 
A gray pallor slowly crept over the features, and the 
seal let lips gradually grew pale. The Dr’s eyes were 
riveted upon her face. Madeline was trembling with 
the great fear that swelled, her heart. The shadow 
of Death was upon the beautiful form. Would it 
settle there, and stilbit to eternal slumber? 

Whiter, whiter grew the pallid face. It looked like 


84 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


a pure sculpture of parian marble in its immovable 
beauty. The large eyes were but half vailed by the 
long, dark lashes, and the little hands lay limp and 
cold across her bosom. Ah ! surely the dread De- 
stroyer was at his work ! A moment more, and it 
would be finished ! 

“ Oh, papa ! will she die? — is she dead?” breathed 
the terrified girl almost inaudibly. 

He placed his ear to her heart. It beat faintl3^ 
An almost imperceptible respiration moved the linen 
over her bosom. But the faint spark of life was so 
uncertain, he scarcely dared reply, and she took it 
for granted that she was already dead. Bowing her 
face upon her hands she wept silently. 

Several moments passed away. A deep inspira- 
tion heaved the bosom wherein the faint heart still 
throbbed lowly. Then the breath become more full 
and strong. A steady inspiration followed that heavy 
sigh, and slowly, very slowly, the color, like the deli- 
cate tint of a seashell, dawned upon the cheeks and 
lips. The eyes closed in a natural repose, and a gen- 
tle perspiration stood upon the forehead. With in- 
^ tense interest, the physician watched the dawning 
of a new life, as it were, and as it increased, a glow 
of deep satisfaction settled upon his kind face. 

“Safe!” he ejaculated. “ Look up, my daughter, 
I think the danger past.” 

A low murmur of thankfulness responded. The 
generous girl had come to love the quiet, sorrowing 
woman, with a love almost beyond her own under- 
standing. The restoration of her life at a moment 
when she thought her gone forever, was to her loving 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


85 


heart, like a special boon from the divine source of 
all mercies. Thankfully she bowed her head again, 
now in earnest prayer. 

Half an hour later, Madeline prevailed upon her 
father to retire. Ora slept peacefully, and after pre- 
paring a place, in an adjoining chamber communica- 
ting with the one they now occupied, for Miss Ger- 
hard, she turned the gas to a twilight, and softly laid 
herself beside the invalid. 

She did not try to sleep. Notwithstanding her 
father’s assurance of the speedy recovery of their 
charge, she feared a change, and lay wakefull}^ ob- 
servant. 

Sometime passed away, and at length she closed 
her eyes in utter weariness. The watching of the 
past week, had worn her very much. Yet the attend- 
ant excitement of the vigils, had prevented her feel- 
ing it so keenly as she felt it now. She was nearly 
falling asleep unawares, when a faint movement at 
the foot of the couch, caused her to look up. For a 
moment the vision that arrested her gaze, caused the 
blood to circle icily about her heart. 

A tiny figure stood there, a loose flowing robe of 
white falling about it, while long, waving curls floated 
over the little shoulders. A pair of large, eager eyes 
rested upon the two figures stretched upon the bed, 
shining like stars in the dim light. 

“ Ada ! my child ! what brought you here, darling?” 

She rose quickly, and took the little form in her 
arms. The child was shivering with cold, but was 
very qniet, submitting herself passively to her em- 
brace. Fearing to waken the sleeper, Madeline took 


86 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


lier to tlie far side of the chamber, near the stove, 
and wrapped a warm shawl around the cliilled limbs. 

“ Tell,” me, darling, she repeated. “How came 
you to leave your nurse ? What brought you here ?” 

“Ada couldn’t sleep,” said the child pitiously, 
“Ada wanted mamma.” 

“ Dear little angel I God has kindly spared your 
mamma. You shall have her again, please Heaven ! 
But you ought not to come out here in the cold at 
this time of night. Why could not you go to sleep, 
baby ?” 

“ Mamma said Ada must never sleep till she had 
said her prayers, and Ada did not say them to night. 
Jenny was cross, and covered her up before she 
could say them. Where is my mamma? I want my 
mamma !” 

“ Poor child I” cried Madeline. “ It cannot see its 
mamma to-night. You shall see her to-morrow, dar- 
ling. Cornel Maddy will take you back to bed, 
and hear your prayers. Then you must go to sleep, 
and when it gets light, you may come in here and 
see your mother, my pet.” 

“ No, no ! Ada wants to stay. Let Ada go to mam- 
ma now I” 

She looked toward the bed, and held out her arms 
pleadingly. Her little lips quivered as if about to 
cry, and Madeline trembled lest she should startle 
the sick mother with her screams. She was perplexed 
but strove to soothe her with promises, which the lit- 
tle one utterly refused. 

“If I take you to mamma, and let you kiss her, 
will you then go back with me to the nursery?” she 


87 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

queBtioned. The child’s face lighted gladly as she 
replied : 

‘‘ Oh, yes, let Ada kiss mamma 1” 

She took her in her arms, and crossed the room 
quietly, whispering her to be very still. The child 
was carried to her mamma, and looked in wishful 
hesitation at the thin face lying before her. Then 
she spread her little arms to clasp her neck in glad 
impulse, forgetful of all, save that she was with her 
mother. Madeline drew her back in alarm, and a 
cry of disappointment broke from her lips. 

Ora’s eyes opened quietly, and gazed upon the two 
figures — one face marred by grief and disappoint- 
ment — the other with alarm. She recognized them 
instantly, and a faint smile broke over her features as 
she tried to speak. 

“Baby! poor baby. It wants its mother,” she 
breathed weakly. “ Give her to me, Madeline.” 

Fearing to do more harm by opposition than com- 
pliance, the gentle nurse laid the child on the spot 
indicated by the mother’s eyes, and with a cry of 
satisfaction, she nestled her bright head against the 
tender bosom, and clasped her neck with both arms. 
Ora looked up gratefully murmuring. 

“ Poor little baby I she cant do without me._ Have 
I been sick long ? I am so weak.” M- 

“Not very long. About a week. But you will 
get well now, thank God. Do be quiet, though, dear 
Mrs. Meredith., you must not talk. Shall I take Ads^ 
away?” 

“ No^ no. Let her stay. She will not disturb me. 
How much trouble we must have given you all.” 


88 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


“No indeed! Dont think of it. And now you 
must not talk. Go to sleep, and if Ada needs atten- 
tion, I will take care of her. Now I will lie down 
with you both.” 

There were few hours left for rest, but ere day 
dawned, Madeline slept heavily beside mother and 
child. Ada went to sleep without a word or move- 
ment, her little longing heart at rest ! No one had 
ever dreamed that every night the poor chill had 
stood silently by the door in her little white gown, 
vainly hoping to get in, and that the nurse, waking 
and missing her, had sought and carried her back, 
chilled to numbness, to her little crib. The girl was 
afraid to tell, lest she should be censured for want of 
watchfulness, and it was long ere they learned how'- 
the yearning baby heart had suffered thus silently in 
unchildlike patience. 


CHAPTEE IX. 

Spring had come, bright and beautiful, and Ora 
with her wan spiritual face, began to look forward 
gladly to the green freshness of earth, hoping to regain 
health and strength with the genial sunshine and the 
fragrance of flowers. Charles Lafarge in company 
with Guy Bartoni, had frequently called at the house 
since her illness, but she had no difficulty in avoiding 
them while yet an invalid. Xow she was resuming 
the old routine of duty, but studiously refused to par- 
ticipate in the social arrangements, as heretofore. 
Madeline expostulated ; but she said : 

“ Indeed, I feel so weak and poorly fitted for socie- 
ty, I had rather keep my own room. You are very 
good, I know, and I thank you. But think, dear Mad- 
eline, of what possible advantage can it be to me to 
be seen with you by your friends, treated in all re- 
spects one may say, as an equal ? They will wonder 
who and what I am, where I come from, and all about 
me. The apparent equality, will rouse curiosity that 
I prefer to avoid. My life has been painful, and I 
would shield the Past from prying eyes. I cannot help 
it if I am over sensitive. Sufiering has made me so 
however. Let me be, sweet little friend, except such 
times as when you are alone. Then I will join you 
at your meals. My evenings I would like always to 
spend alone after Ada goes to sleep. When you have 
( 89 ) 8 


90 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

company, pray dout think of my joining yon at any 
time.” 

This was more than she had ever said of herself 
directly, since she had been with them, and Madeline 
drank it — eagerly. She was alive with interest since 
the illness wherein so much that was wild and fright- 
ful had been murmured, and she longed for the history 
of the governess, more than anything else on earth. 
Once she had asked her father to explain if he could, 
and he replied gravely : “ My child, what I know, I 
am not at liberty to tell. She has suffered, but I be- 
lieve her pure as an angel — almost as good. Be 
patient, love, and perhaps she will sometime explain 
herself, more than I could tell you.” 

And it was with this hope increased that she now 
heard' the words Ora dropped casually. It shone 
brightly, wistfully from her eyes as she regarded her. 

“You must do as you like, of course, but we feel 
too much interest not to wish to have you with us 
more, and to have others know you. They would not 
feel surprised at our regard, could they know you as 
we do.” 

“ Ah, you are too flattering,” was the grateful, play- 
ful response. Yet a look of trouble flitted instantly 
over the thin face, and she turned her eyes upon the 
young girl in half sorrowful inquiry. 

“ What do you know of me to make you love me ? 
I am not good ; I am not very social or lovable in any 
l)articular way ; your own generous heart does more 
for me than my merits. In fact I have given you a 
great deal of trouble, and little else. I dont know 
just why you arc all so good to me.” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


91 


“Come, shall not depreciate yourself. Nor 
will I pamper your vanity,” she added playfully, “by 
enumerating the virtues that make us love you. But 
seriously, I want you to be with us more. Even 
Harry, who is the oddity of our household, expressed 
wonder at your severe seclusion, and said he missed 
you. Furthermore, he commissioned me to bring you 
out of your ‘burrow,’ as he termed it.” The Teacher’s 
brow flushed hotly, and the old light of angry disturb- 
ance came back to her eyes Madeline had seen on the 
niglit when he suggested the stage as a more lucrative 
profession. She recoiled at having reopened the wound 
afresh, and hastened to change the conversation. 

It was not, however, a memory of that insult that 
disturbed her, but the knowledge that he still pursued 
her with that spirit of annoyance which was growing 
so poignant. The faint hope that he had forgotten it 
during her illness, was swept away by a single sen- 
tence. She knew well that the household enemy stood 
guard at the door to aim at her some poisonous shaft 
the very moment she should merge from the shelter- 
ing precints of her own domain. 

Madeline left her, feeling both pain and disappoint- 
ment. A long conversation tailed to win her over to 
her wishes in regard to general intercourse with the 
family and special friends, or to gain any confidence 
from her whatever, relative to her past life, beyond 
what she had said. Madeline was generous to a fault, 
and not over worldly in her mind. Had she been, she 
could never have expected society to regard their gov- 
erness in the favorable light in which she so lovingly 
sought to place her. She did not stop to ask the rea- 


92 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

son why people would not accept as an equal, one 
occupying a subordinate position, even though she 
might be considered as such, and so treated in their 
own family. Ora, gifted, accomplished to a high degree, 
noble in her nature and true womanly principle, was 
to society nothing, while she combined with these 
qualities poverty and self dependence which made it 
necessary for her to labor for her bread. 

Later in the day, accident threw her face to face 
with Harry Clifton as she passed from her own room 
to one on the floor above on some trifling errand. 
She flushed deeply, then paled. She could not look 
upon her enemy, as she had gradually learned to con- 
sider him, wholly unmoved. But drawing her slight 
form up haughtily, she would have passed with a cold 
nod, had he not interposed to stay her progress. 

He held out a hand to her with a frank pleasing 
gesture, while his handsome face lighted as if with 
genuine pleasure. 

“ How nice it seems to see you out again, Mrs. 
Meredith,” he exclaimed. “ 1 declare, the house be- 
gan to assume a funeral-like aspect while you were 
ill. You are growing stronger now though, and wo 
all hope to see you in your accustomed places again. 
I cannot tell you how we miss your little quiet figure 
amongst us. You are keeping yourself too close en- 
tirely. Come out now, and have exercise with us.” 

‘‘Thank you, sir.” She returned politely but with 
a tinge of coldness she could not melt, in her tones. 
“You are kind, but I am still indisposed for society 
where 1 can avoid it.” 

He looked at her keenly. 


93 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

“ I see,'’ lie said bluiitl}', “ You have never forgiven 
me for that rude speech of mine. May I ask it now 

“ There is no need, Mr. Clifton. I never remember 
such trifles to any one’s prejudice and had nearly for- 
gotten the circumstance entirely.” 

Then what is it ? You do not like my society, and 
since you have recovered, are more persistently cold 
and unapproachable than previously. Why do you 
avoid me ? I have not seen you to speak half a dozen 
words since you left your room to resume your school 
duties. 

Ora evaded a direct reply, and with an excuse, 
forced her way past him and left his presence. He 
looked after her, the light on his face changing to one 
of deep displeasure. 

“By the Lord,” he muttered under his breath, 
“That woman is a riddle I will solve yet. She puz- 
zles, — she interests me strangely with her beautil’ul 
face and haughty manner. I’ll solve that mystery 
around her, or my head shall lose its cunning. How 
she tantalizes me ! Gentle, loving and tender to all 
others — I have seen it ! To me, cold as ice and sharp 
as steel. Here is metal worth trying. Let me prove 
it and see if it is true throughout.” 

He went down stairs, took his hat from the stand in 
the hall, and went out upon the street. 

^ It was warm and bright without, and the streets 
were thronged. He had not gone far when he met 
Guy and Charlie, as he now familiarly called the lat- 
ter. His greeting was warm and really joyous. 

“Halloe! I’m glad to meet you, gentlemen!” he 
said extending to each a hand. “ Out sunning your- 


94 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


selves, eh ? Beautiful day, isn’t it. What a lucky 
fellow I am to have met you just here. It is near 
and I have just got some paintings home I want you 
to look at. Come round and give me your opinion of 
them.” 

“ With all the pleasure imaginable,” responded 
Guy. Charlie acquiesced readily, and the three pro- 
ceeded to Dr. Clifton’s. 

Madeline was out, and they went up to the gallery 
of which the family were justly proud. Paintings were 
Harry’s especial passion, and he never lost an oppor- 
tunity to increase the store already collected so happily 
in the long room where the lights and shadows fell 
upon them so advantageously. 

Sometime passed in their examination and criticism. 
Guy’s taste was fine, and his remarks very discrimina- 
ting. Leaving them for a moment on a slight pretext, 
Harry lightly descended by a private stairway, came 
out in the hall leading past the music room and en- 
tered one beyond, as if on some errand. The one 
glance directed within, showed him the young teacher 
in a far corner, selecting some music, with Agnes by 
her side. He knew it was her usual hour for sivinc: 
her pupil a lesson in vocal music, and had made his 
calculations nicely. In a moment he returned to the 
gallery. 

“Well, have you done here, Guy? How do you 
like the collection as a whole. You are a good jud<>'e. 
Tell me frankly.” 

“It cannot be surpassed in any private gallery in 
New York,” was the reply, made from iionest convic- 
tion. “Some of these are of the grandest and rarest 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 95 

works to be found. I cannot express the appreciation 
I feel of their great value.” 

“ Thank you, Guy. Your compliment is very grati- 
fying. I have one more I should like to show you. It 
hangs in the music room, and represents a young girl 
seated by a stream near the base of the Rocky Moun- 
tains, playing upon a Harp. It looks strangely out 
of place here, but the workmanship is superb. A long 
line of emigrant’s wagons and large groups in the back 
ground of rough looking men and women, explain her 
presence, but she appears set apart by her dress, habits 
and exceeding beauty from the others. Come and see 
it.” 

He led the way, and the others followed with inter- 
est to see the picture. At the threshold Harry slighty 
paused to say : 

‘‘Pardon, Mrs. Meredith. I am going to show 
these gentlemen a painting that is here. We will not 
long intrude.” 

He turned toward the painting as ho uttered the 
apology, but his glance never quitted her face for an 
instant as she lifted her eyes from the pile of music on 
a stand beside her, and encountered the strangers. 
Then he saw her pale and grasp for breath as on a 
previous occasion. Guy and Charlie stood as if rooted 
to the spot. The former took a few hasty strides for- 
ward Glendora! Can it be I For Heaven’s sake how 
came ,you here?” 

Ills lace was as pale as hers, — his eyes wild and 
full of passionate light. Harry took it all in with an 
inward exultation admirably covered by a show of 
extreme surprise. 


96 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


“So you are acquainted, after all,” he exclaimed. 
“ Why, Mrs. Meredith, how is all this ? I should have 
thought you would have recognized Mr. Bartoni when 
you saw him before.” 

The first deep, sharp, bitter sting of the wound was 
over now. The deed was hopelessly done. There 
was no escape. Anger at the perpetrator of the mis- 
chief was the best remedy she could have had for the 
gaping wound. She turned a scathing glance upon 
him as he stood before her. 

“ Did I ever profess not to know him, Mr. Clifton ? 
You never asked me if he was known to me. But 
had you not done what you have to-day, it would have 
been better for all concerned. Guy Bartoni, I have no 
words to say to you, sir,” she said firmly and with icy 
dignity, and turning with haughty mien to leave them. 
No one strove to detain her. The incident fell like a 
blow upon the two visitors and the poor victim. 
Harry saw his advantage, and for the time being, was 
elated with his success. 

Guy turned and strode rapidly to a window, where 
he stood for several moments in deep thought. He 
was evidently disturbed to an intense degree, but in a 
few moments he came back looking serious — almost 
sad. 

“ Harry, is that the governess of whom I have heard 
so much ? Is that your sister’s and my betrothed’s 
bosom friend. Tell me that it is not so?” 

“ But it is so [ Why? For Heaven’s sake, explain 
this mystery !” 

Bartoni turned again and strode heavily over the 
floor. Then he came back and said regretfully : 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


97 


Harry, I am the last man on earth to cast suspi- 
cion on the fair fame of a woman. I would not do it 
now, but it is just to you to say that she is no lit in- 
mate for this house, and I know it.” 

His glance bore a deeper significance than his 
words. 

“ Good Heaven’s ! Gan it be possible !” The young 
man’s tones were full of indignation ; but neither Ora 
or Guy had worn a whiter face than his at that mo- 
ment. He had gone too far, and without knowing it, 
planted a dagger in his own heart which he dreamed 
not of till he felt the sting of its wound. 

“ Guy ! this matter must be fully explained now,” 
he said huskily. ‘‘ This is no time for false modesty 
or quibling. You must tell both my father and my- 
self what you know.” 

“ Is not my word sufficient, Harry? 1 have said she 
is no fit inmate for this house, and my friend, Charles 
Lafarge will bear me out in the assertion, if you need 
farther evidence than this.” 

His tone was cold and offended. 

“ Pardon me Guy. I do not mean to doubt your 
word, but it is not enough. Tell me all — when and 
where you knew her. I may be excused my perti- 
nacity under the circumstances. She has long been an 
inmate of the house, favored by the family as one of 
us, and I would know whom weiiave thus favored, in 
all the particulars.” 

“You are pertinatious, truly,” said Guy, annoyed 
beyond his patience. He had gone as far as he wish- 
ed, but he was now compelled beyond his limit. “ But 
since you wish it, I will tell you that I met her in a 
9 


98 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


Southern City, where she appeared to be in extreme 
want. I know nothing of her history beyond the fact 
that she was separated from her husband. I cannot 
affirm the cause, tho’ evil minded people might easily 
construe it in an uncharitable light from her subse- 
quent life. I will not enlarge her faults. Want has 
much to do with sin and its accompaniment of misery. 
I pitied her from my soul, and aided her in a measure. 
But I have said enough. Will it suffice you 

“ Yes. One thing more, however I What name 
did she bear ? 

“ I declare, I have forgotten all but the first, which 
is Glendora. Do you remember it Charlie 

“ Dumont, I think” said the other readily. 

“ Enough !” cried Harry turning from the room. 
‘‘ Gentlemen, we will seek my father.” 

The three young men proceeded down stairs with 
various emotions. Harry was still white and his 
eyes looked stony. He could not recede now from 
the path he had entered, and he summoned all his 
courage to get through. Guy was angry and uneasy, 
yet forced to appear calmly quiescent. Charles Lafarge 
looked pained and deeply disturbed. 

Dr. Clifton looked up from some papers as liis 
son entered accompanied by the young men. He 
saw instantly, that something unusual had occurred, 
and questioned them in the first moment as to the 
cause. 

“ Harry, Guy, what has happened?” The son’s voice 
was very husky as he repeated the little incident of the 
afternoon, and its results. The Dr. listened in bewil- 
derment. Guy confirmed all that Harry said, with 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 99 

I some further particulars, and then a deep silence fell 
upon the whole party. 

t . Five, ten minutes passed. The old man paced the 
room thoughtfully — the son stood in the shadow of a 
! window, his face hidden from the inmates. The two 
gontlemen sat uneasily awaiting the issue of this event. 

At last the Dr. heaved a heavy, painful sigh. There 
were traces of tears on his cheek as he looked up and 
said : 

‘‘Well, I suppose I must believe what you both so 
strongly assert, but if any others had said it of her, I 
should have turned them from my door as villianous 
1 slanderers. I know Guy, that your interest is linked 
I with ours, and cannot think you actuated by other than 
pure motives in this revelation. It seems almost im- 
f possible, though. She is so hiir, so lovely, so high 
minded. Few have her intellect and strong womanly 
traits of character. It is hard to think her aught but 
what is spotlessly pure and good. Here her deport- 
ment has ever been that of a lady. How hard it seems 
I now, good as she has been in our eyes, to turn her 
out into the cold world. Yet we must do it, I sup- 
I pose.” 

I There was much sorrow, but neither anger or indig- 
■ nation in his tones. Had he searched his great gen- 
erous heart, he would have seen how utterly it denied 
' a belief in the vile tale to destroy a good, true woman. 

At length the young men escaped, glad to be free, 
and Harry went to his room with a heavy load upon 
his heart, while his hither sought his daughter. The 
father attributed the stern hard look and manner of 
his son, to anger at the supposed deception, but could 


100 


OEA, THE LOST WIFE. 


he have followed him to his room and watched him 
there in his misery and self reproach, he would have 
been enlightened strangely. 

At the moment when Harry Clifton had reached 
forth his hand, and in his cruel, wilful might, smote 
her from the fair pedestal on which she stood, he 
found that he loved her better than his own life ! 

Ah ! Blind, wilful mortality ! How mad we are I 


CHAPTEK X. 

By what singular circumstances was that once 
happy mansion the shelter of misery, where all 
should have been joy. And still more singular, that 
one single being with a want of manly principle, 
should have done it all. It was through Guy Bartoni 
that the poor governess first felt a keen sense of an- 
guish. Through him Lina had suffered for a brief 
space of time which plunged others as well as her- 
self in misery. And now through him they were all 
sufiering together. The Dr. found Madeline at last 
engaged in domestic duties, and calling her into the 
Library imparted to her the story he had heard. She 
was wild with grief and indignant astonishment. 
She could not credit the story, yet her lover had told 
the tale, and in the recognition, there was too much 
proof. She remembered too, how Ora had avoided 
Guy on various pretexts, and bringing to mind every- 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


101 


thing, together with her own can lid statement of a 
painful past into which she could not allow the curi- 
ous to pry, she found a dark array against which 
her confused brain strove vainly to combat. The 
struggle was harder since it was between the two — 
her friend, as she had fondly called her, and her 
lover. Could she doubt him, one whom she loved as 
life ? Besides, what did she know of Ora to dispute 
her lover’s truth in regard to her. She was alone, 
friendless, wrapped in a vail of mystery none could 
fathom. Conviction struggled hard with her love and 
generous feelings. She thought of everything that 
had occurred since her arrival at the house, and with 
all the evidence against her, for her life, she could 
not think of the patient,^ quiet, self-possessed and lov- 
ing woman as other than pure, spotless, high souled. 
There seemed an atmosphere about her elevating in 
itself. All had felt it who even came in contact with 
her. How could she bring herself to turn coldly 
away and cast her from her heart ?” 

Yet the world would hear of this, and now for the 
sake of others^ she remembered what course it would 
pursue toward her if she dared to harbor one on whom 
the blighting breath of suspicion had fallen. For 
her sisters sake, she must cast all other thoughts and 
feelings aside, and act the hard, cold woman of the 
world — turn a lonely woman out into its mists in the 
storm and the whirlpool of life with none to trust — 
none to save, if the billows grew too strong for her 
woman’s power to combat ! What bitter, bitter tears 
fell from the brown eyes! what agony stirred the 
noble woman’s heart in the girlish bosom 1 


102 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

The conflict grew stronger as thought worked 
laboriously through the dark mists. Wearied, over- 
come with it, she sank by her father’s side and wept 
passionately. 

“ Oh, papa, what can we do ? I can never tell her 
to go ! I could not bear to repeat this story to her ! 
She seems so good, so true ! Oh, papa, can you believe 
it?” 

“ Daughter, daughter, Lina, darling, be more calm. 
How can we help it? It is very painful. I am as 
willing to discredit it as you can be, but the proof is 
too strong. I have been thinking over what she told 
me of herself, and I confess that I cannot bring my 
mind to view her story as false. Yet the two will 
not run together wholly. She may have left out the 
part I have just heard, and related the truth in the 
part she did reveal. Yet if it he true, I cannot be- 
lieve this of her, for it seems so opposite to the course 
she pursued all her young life. I would I had the 
power to investigate the whole affair.” 

“It would be but just. And yet,” said the girl 
while a hot flush stained her cheeks. “ I should not 
say so, perhaps, since my words imply a doubt of 
Guy’s veracity.” 

“ Madeline,” said the father tenderly. “ Mrs. Mere- 
dith is a poor lonely, and if we cast her ofl' — a friend- 
less woman. She has suffered deeply, I do surely 
believe. I have always thought that suffering caused 
by the wrong of others to herself. Not from any 
wrong she ever did to any one. More than this, she 
has a little helpless child, who will share the mother’s 
blight out in the world. Now, supposing Guy was 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


103 


mistaken. Would it not be more worthy in us to in- 
vestigate and prove this mistake than bring so much 
shame and suffering on a lonely struggling woman? 
And wo will suppose farther. Now mind, my child, I 
am only supposing a case ! 

Well, supposing, I say, Guy for some motive, should 
have wronged her, seeing her powerless to refute this 
charge. Would you not rather know it now., than 
after your marriage with him ?” 

“ Papa 

Madeline’s eyes looked up at him through her- 
tears, in utter astonishment. 

“ Oh, tell me, do you suspect Guy of any hidden 
motive ! Do you doubt his truth? For mercy’s sake, 
tell me !” 

“ No, Lina, no !” he answered very sadly. “ I have 
done wrong to put such a case to you, my child. I 
hardly know why I did it, I’m sure. But for this 
woman my heart is full of pity. I am in a quandary 
how to act. God help us that we do not wrong her, 
bitterly wrong her!” 

Farther and farther down into these two noble 
hearts, the good Angel was working. Gradually the 
purest, sweetest fountains were reached, and flowed 
forth at the touch, a divine wave of Charity that 
overflowed and exalted them. The maiden’s heart 
was all aglow with it. The lips first to speak the 
sentiment. 

“ Fatlier, we must not send her out into the world 
yet. Let us investigate the matter fully. Bid Guy, 
ilarrv, all of our household who have heard this 
thing, be quiet for a little time. We must get at the 


104 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


exact truth before we care to turn against one of 
God’s children, and she laboring so faithfully and 
bravely under our very eyes, in the path of right. 
Guy is a strong man, as you say. She a weak woman. 
Let me be unselfish and above all, true to my own 
sex. I will not turn from her and leave her to die in 
'' shame, unloved, uncared for. What might be her 
fate, should she go away from us. What may we 
not spare her if she stays. And, oh 1 if it should 
prove false, though my heart should break, all my 
life I should thank God for the Truth. 

“ My brave, my noble child ! God bless you, dar- 
ling !” 

Dr. Clifton’s eyes brimmed till the tears fell on the 
bright brown hair falling over his knees, and he bent 
with fervent, tender reverence to press a kiss on the 
spotless brow. 

But let us follow Ora. 

Crushed, quivering, almost stunned beneath the 
blow, she staggered to her room and threw herself 
upon her knees, helpless from the tide of anguish 
sweeping over her. Pride and anger had sustained 
her till beyond the sight of the trio. Now she re- 
coiled from the blow she had received, with a low 
wail of intense agony. She had encountered her 
deadly foe, face to face, lie was the dread and the 
banc of her life. lie held ruin for her in his cruel 
hands. He too, was in her power. He would inter- 
pose her danger as a shield between them. He was 
a man, desperate, unprincipled. She a woman, weak 
and powerless. If there was war between them, 
might, not right would conquer. She knew that he 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


105 


was afraid of her, and that he would not hesitate at 
any means to put her from his path. A dark cloud 
was over her head. She felt the icy chill of the 
storm already. Oh, when and where would it all 
end ! 

A little arm stole around her neck, a little hot face 
stained with tears of passionate grief, was laid against 
her own. The storm in the bosom of Agnes Montes, 
child though she was, was awful. 

“ Oh ! dear, dear Mrs. Meredith ! That man has 
foully belied you ! I could murder him ! Oh, I would 
laugh in joy this minute to trample his heart under 
my feet. He is blacker than sin. He is sin itself! 
They did not notice me. I heard it all, and I wanted 
to kill him then ! I always said he was a bad man ! 
He is a terrible man ! Oh, the black, black slander ! 
If I am a little girl, I know how dreadfully he injured 
you. I heard him tell Harry that you were no fit 
I inmate for this house, and then he said you were 
! parted from your husband, and he had saved you 
from want. He hinted other awful things, too, and I 
thought my brain would burst while he stood there 
and talked 1 Harry was white as death with passion, 
and I felt as if I could murder him too, and that other 
man ! Oh, I knew that Guy Bartoni would bring a 
curse to this house and he has brought it 1” 

All this was uttered with a passionate vehemence 
and rapidity beyond description. Ora lifted her white 
face and gazed awe stricken upon the frail author of 
this terrible outburst. From the child’s lips her fears 
v/ere confirmed. His first step was an eftbrt to blast 
her fair fame, and hurl her from his path by that 


106 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


means. The frightful falsehood had been uttered. 
It would be believed. She was powerless to bring 
proof against it. Already shame was flowing in upon 
her life, and would soon overwhelm her. What mat- 
tered it “if she was innocent, if they helieved her 
guilty.” Her punishment would be the same. What 
mattered it then ? Ah ! much to her own pure soul ! 
Nothing to the world, where there was a semblance 
of evil. 

“ God help me ! God pity me I” she cried, and the 
little child gathered the white face against her bosom 
and the two sobbed together — prayed together till 
darkness had shrouded all things in a common 
mantle. 

Then Ora shook off the torpor that was creeping 
over her, and resolutely roused herself to action. She 
had faith in Madeline’s love, and perhaps the Dr. who 
had ever been so kind to her, W'ould not wholly dis- 
credit the story he had heard from her lips in the 
beginning. She started up hopefnll}^, with a wild 
impulse to go to them and appeal to their sense of 
justice against this wrong, but recoiled with a cry 
when she remembered that she would be appealing 
to them against a son — a lover. Would not the Dr’s 
eyes look coldly upon her, while Madeline’s lips 
would wreathe in scorn and anger? Could they be- 
lieve her before him? Too long, through motives of 
delicacy and fear, she had failed to warn the gentle 
girl against this villian, hearing her story of love, 
seeing it go on day after day, and Aveek after week 
in silence. Now they Avould deem it a fabrication 
raised up in self defense. Their incredulous scorn 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


107 


would kill her ! She dared not go to them now! Too 
late slie saw the fatal mistake, and must bear the 
consequences of her folly. 

Another wild whirl of passionate feeling seized 
her. She could not bear companionship in such a 
painful state of mind, and calming herself with a 
mighty effort, she kissed her little child friend ten- 
derly, fervently, and sent her from her. 

‘‘ Go darling,” she said. “ To me your sympathy 
is precious as life itself, for it is all I have in my sor- 
row ; but it is wrong for me to let you suffer so for my 
sake. Dont be so distressed, Aggie. God will help 
me where He sees me so wronged and friendless ! 
Go, my pet 1” 

“ Oh, please dont send me away,” begged the little 
creature. “ It kills me to think of you all alone here, 
crying and suffering without anybody ! I dont care 
what they say 1 I do love ^mu ! I will love you better 
than anything in the world ! Oh, let me stay with 
you ! you will feel better if you let me put my arms 
around your neck and stay by you ; for then you’ll 
fed how I love you, and wont be so lonely in your 
trouble? Oh, do let me stay !” 

“ Dear, blessed Aggie ! Devoted friend 1 Thank 
God for this one, at least!” murmured Ora clasping 
the devoted girl in her arms. 

“ But, Agnes,” she continued, “I must send you 
away, because it is better for ns both.” 

If you stay here to talk to me this way, and fondle 
over me, I shall never gain self control enough to 
meet with what may be yet to come. Go to your room 
and bathe this poor little hot face, and then kneel 


108 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

down and pray God to aid us both. You may come 
to me again bye and bye.” 

Without another word, Agnes obeyed her teacher 
and quitted the room. All the whole force of her 
strong nature centered in her love for her governess. 
She would have died to serve her in her distress, and 
seeing how ‘she might help her by submitting to her 
wishes, she no longer refused to go away, and passed 
out quietly, casting a wistful, lingering look of love 
upon the suffering face as she departed. 

Buried in bitter reflections, poor Ora sat still and 
mute where Agnes had left her. She thought of 
nothing but her misery, heeded nothing, until a slight 
rustle at the door made her look up, A folded paper 
was slipped beneath and lay upon the carpet, and 
with a strange, sickening sensation of fear, she scarce 
knew why, she lifted it and went to the gas which 
she turned up as brightly as her eyes could bear in 
their weak state. Then she unfolded the sheet with 
trembling finger. The writing was clear and bold, 
blit hastily written as if under a sudden impulse. 
Her heart beat heavily, and her eyes grew wild as 
she. read : 

“ Ora Meredith, this hour has revealed to me a fu- 
ture dark with utter misery. I have had my eyes 
opened to a truth of which, in my willful blindness, 
I never even dreamed. I never paused to ask myself 
why I loved to watch you in your quiet, queenly 
beauty, or followed you with my curious gaze, long- 
ing to get down amid the mysteries of your life. I 
loved to annoy you, and have used rudeness many 
times for that means. Nothing to me seemed so 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


109 


grand as to- see those bine eyes flash, and your slender 
form rise to a queenly dignity, while the steel-true 
spirit of the woman, caused ever sharp, yet faultless 
retorts to fall from your lips. Day after day I sought 
to know you, but you have ever held aloof— avoided 
me — now I feel, justly. I knew it then, but it only 
stimulated me the more. When Guy Bartoni came 
here on that evening when I used so gross an in- 
sult to wound your sensitive feelings, I knew that he 
was known to you, and I resolved to find out from 
him and you the secret of that knowledge. It has 
been a fixed purpose, whose accomplishment has 
sealed my doom, for in the hour that I learned your 
shame, I learned too, that I loved you, wildly, pas- 
sionately, madly! God help me! I would give my 
life to undo what I have done. And yet, can you 
not refute this awful slander — for slander I would 
fain believe it. Come forwarrl, prove your inno- 
cence, for God’s sake ! Or give me the power to do 
it for you. Tell me that you arc what you have 
seemed to us — a widow. Tell me that you have no 
husband living ! Tell me where and when you saw 
this man, and though he were my own brother, I will 
go to the earth’s end to prove your truth against him. 
I conjure you, by all you hold dear to you, to listen 
to me, and let me be your friend. Forgive me for 
the wild confusion of my love! I cannot help it! 
This hour has caused revolution in my whole life. 
Worthy or unworthy, it is centered in you !” 

“ Merciful God ! this to follow ! Oh, what will 
come next.” 

Sick, bewildered, she sank down, grasping the epis- 


110 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


tie in cold, rigid fingers. She was stunned by this 
new phase of trouble. Was it only a fresh insult, 
intended as a final sting, to thus offer her his love, or 
rather to declare and thrust it upon her in her last 
extremity of sorrow? Or was he in earnest, and felt 
in reality, the desire to clear her fame from the foul 
aspersion? Any way, she could but take it as the 
last drop added to a bitter cup. Now, more than 
ever, it was beyond her reach to attempt exonerating 
herself. To tell them now, would appear a desire to 
clear herself for his sake. She dared not do it. 
There was but one course left her. She must go 
away from the house. This was no longer a place 
for her, even if they, in their generosity would allow 
her to remain. Her pride rose up with bitter rebel- 
lion at the thought of being turned away from this 
once peaceful haven. She felt overwhelmed with 
shame at the thought. An impulse to leave the 
place silently, quietly, before they had an opportunity 
to send her forth, seized her ; but would this be bet- 
ter, to creep away like the guilty thing they deemed 
her, afraid to brave their just indignation? Here, 
pride again revolted. What could she do ? 

She was still undecided, and lost in perplexity, 
when Jenny brought Ada in to put her to bed. Be- 
fore the girl. Ora strove hard to appear as usual. 
She could not bear that servants should see and com- 
ment upon her misery. 

During the process of disrobing, little Ada’s eyes 
rested wistfully upon her mother’s face. When Jen- 
ny had robed her in her night dress, she sprang from 
her lap, and struggling with its long folds, reached her 


Ill 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

mother’s feet, where she sank on her knees, and lifted 
her little folded hands ready to say her nightly prayer. 

Ora’s tones faltered with intensity of feeling, as 
she repeated the simple, beautiful prayer which ex- 
presses all the human heart could ask for — “ Our 
Father.” The baby tones followed, clear and sweet 
in their infantile lispings, but the little petitioner did 
not rise when she had done. Her great eyes looked 
up eagerly in the troubled face above her. 

“ Mamma, may Ada pray herself?” 

“ Yes, darling. What does my little daughter want 
to pray for?” asked the mother surprised and serious. 

The child again folded her hands and the long 
lashes veiled the blue eyes, while the sweet tones 
repeated earnestly : 

“ Oh Dod, bless my pretty mamma, and dont let 
anybody hurt her, or make her ky.” 

Mrs. Meredith caught the little creature to her 
bosom convulsively, thrilled to the heart by the baby 
prayer for protection. The eyes of love, even when 
understanding not, had penetrated the cloud that 
shrouded her life, and the pure little heart sent up 
its plea for the sunshine. 

“ Oh, surely,” she breathed, ‘‘ my Father, if Thou 
turnest from me. Thou canst not from this little babe.” 

At the usual hour Ora’s tea came up to her room 
as if nothing had occurred. The boy said Miss 
Madeline had company to tea, and had sent up hers 
to her room, as she had said she preferred to take 
her meals alone when strangers were present. 

Ora felt the intended kindness in the message, and 
her heart swelled gratefully. The words seemed to 


112 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


convey a wish that she should attach no importance 
to the matter further than the words expressed. She 
had asked for permission to remain in her room 
except at such times as when the family were alone, 
and it was kindly, thoughtfully granted. 

But another thought occured to her after a little 
while. Perhaps Madeline had not as yet, learned 
what had occurred, and she was yet to feel her indig- 
nation. In that case, the hope that was again spring- 
ing up in her heart, must die out. Ah 1 when will 
we cease to multiply trouble, and feeling our inno- 
cence rely upon a higher power to sustain us. 

Madeline did not get an opportunity to go to Ora 
during the evening. Company came in to tea, and 
others arriving after, detained her till late. When she 
passed her door at last, all was quiet within, and she 
concluded to wait till morning before expressing the 
kind course they had decided to adopt toward her. 

Filled with this purpose, she come out of her room 
early, and proceeded to that of the governess. When 
she reached it, she found it empty 1 Ora was gone 1 


CHAPTER XL 


Six Years previous to the com meu cement of our 
story, a beautiful little cottage was reared in one of 
the loveliest portions of the Old Dominion. It stood 
upon a little knoll, thickly carpeted with green grass, 
and sloping away gently to the edge of the beautiful 
stream, that wound in and out among the lofty hills, 
glittering and flashing in the bright sunshine, like a 
stream of molten silver. 

There was a rare collection of shrubbery in the yard 
and garden, and woodbines, eglantines and sweet 
honey-suckles clambered in wild luxuriance over the 
windows and portico. Two large elms, standing at 
each end of the cottage, reaj^ed out their giant 
branches, and locked themselves in an almost impen- 
etrable mass over the roof; and the wide-spreading 
willows in front drooped lovingly over it, as if to 
shelter it from every rude breath. The neat little 
palings surrounding the yard, were overshadowed by 
a thick border of sugar-maple and locusts, and, so 
entirely excluding the cottage from view, that it was 
impossible to catch a glimpse of the spotless walls 
until you had opened the little gate and begun to 
ascend the broad graveled walk. 

In the borders, flowers of every description bloomed 
profusely. Roses of every kind fllled the air with 
their rich fragrance, and the beautiful meek-eyed 
(113) 10 


114 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


violets peeped shyly out from some luxuriant mass of 
summer chrysanthimurns, and starry pinks. Here a 
coral lioney-suckle climbed gracefully over the white, 
delicate frame-work that supported it; there a sweet- 
brier shook off its fragrance on the balmy breeze. 
Bright, orange-colored crocuses nodded here and there, 
beautifully contrasted with the dense masses of mint, 
and geraniums, that lifted their scarlet heads proudly, 
vieing with the queen of flowers in their stateliness. 
The whole presented a scene too gorgeously beautiful 
for description; and this w^as more like an Eden, 
where Edward Piercelie had brought his child -like, 
beautiful bride, than a place where sorrow might 
glide in with her stealchy step, and lay a blighting 
hand upon the happy hearts of those two loving 
creatures. 

Edward Piercelie was the only son of a country 
clergyman, and the heir to a handsome estate. His 
father had taken gr^i^pains with his education, and 
at the age of twenty-one, he graduated with the proud- 
est honor that heart could wish, and returned home 
to his parents, where he was, as he had ever been, the 
pet and idol of his father’s household. 

Once, when Edward returned home at vacation, 
he found a fair, delicate little girl an inmate of his 
home. 

She was an orphan, whose parents had died direct- 
ly after landing upon the continent, leaving her alone, 
destitute among strangers. Mr. Piercelie, whose heart 
ached lor the situation of the little stranger, took her 
to his home, and cared for her, as though she had 
been his own. Thus years passed away, and the 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 115 

delicate child grew up, under the tender care bestow- 
ed upon her, to be a beautiful woman. 

Edward had, however, paid very little attention to 
the little stranger until his last vacation, when, struck 
with her wondrous beauty, he suddenly changed his 
indifterent manner, and became as tender and devoted 
as he had previously been careless and cool ; and 
when he at last departed for his last term in college, 
the gentle girl clung to him, and wept as though her 
heart would break, while he, scarcely less moved, tried 
to sooth her with assurances of lasting afiection, and 
promises to return and claim her as his bride. 

Time passed slowly away, and summer merged into 
autumn, autumn to winter, and winter to spring, ere 
the son returned again to his father’s hearthstone ; and 
then the joy he felt at meeting was soon changed to 
sorrow, for his parents were stricken down with a 
malignant fever, and died within three days of each 
other. 

Then the two orphans stood alone. IS’eithor could 
claim a kindred tie on earth, and their desolation and 
friirhtfiil bereavement but served to cement the bonds 
of their plighted affections. 

Standing alone, beside the corpse of their almost 
idolized father and guardian, after the mother’s funeral, 
the two had gazed mournfully upon the dead, and 
then lifted their eyes to each other’s faces, and in that 
mute glance, then said, plainly as words could have 
spoken: “We are alone, now — all that is left of a 
once liappy circle !” and stretching forth their hands 
simultaneously, they met in a close clasp with the 
simple utterance of a name. 


116 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

‘‘Edward.” 

And thus were they pledged ; with only the eyes of 
God, and the presence of the dead for witnesses to 
their solemn plighting. 

Two months afterwards, they were married, and re- 
moved to the beautiful little cottage before described, 
leaving the parsonage vacant, for the reception of the 
new minister, who had been chosen to fill the place of 
the dead. 

And here, in this quiet spot, surrounded by the 
rarest beauties fashioned by the hand of nature, they 
found but one drawback to their happiness, and that 
was regret for those who had, in their first fiush of 
youthful joy, been removed from the path which they 
had so fondly hoped in future to make bright for 
them. 

But as the time passed away, they forgot, in a meas- 
ure, their loss, in the joys that crowded upon them, and 
with health, beauty, luxury and the innocent prattle of 
the little one who came to gladden their hearts, they 
were as happy as it is possible for creatures of earth 
to be. 

But there are serpents, who are ever on the alert to 
enter the Eden bowers, and beguile the inmates to sin 
and sorrow, and theirs was not an exception to the 
baneful infiuence of the wily reptile. 

One evening, Edward, upon returning home from 
town, threw into his wife’s lap a dainty billet, saying, 
gaily— 

“There, little one, is an agreeable surprise for you.” 

“ What is it, Edward !” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 117 

“Kead it for yourself,” retorted her husband, pleas- 
. antly. 

Mrs. Piercelie opened it, and with a smile, ran her 
eyes down the page. 

‘‘Why, Edward!” she said, surprised, “I never 
knew that you had a cousin living — 1 thought you had 
not a relative in the world.” 

“ Faith 1 and so did I, yet it seems that I have, and 
a beautiful one, too, if, as she asserts, she is the young 
lady whom I met at Mrs. Porter’s during my college 
term. But it puzzles me that she did not discover the 
relationship existing between us, then. However, I 
suppose she has just found it out, and as it is more 
charming to have a pleasant trip out in the country 
just now, she will presume upon it to spend a few 
weeks with us at our ‘ delightful country seat.’ ” 

“Why, dear,” exclaimed Nina, in surprise, ‘‘how 
sarcastic you are. I hope you are not displeased with 
this contemplated visit?” 

“Not displeased, darling,” returned E.Iward, en- 
circling his wife’s waist with his arm, and gently 
drawing the shower of shining brown curls upon his 
shoulder. “ But it is so annoying to have our happy 
quiet broken in upon. I feel as if I could be forever 
contented here, alone with my two treasures, and I 
fear, when once disturbed, all will not seem the same 
as it did before.” 

“ Well, Edward, if you don’t want her to come. Pm 
sure you might put her off some way.” 

“ No, no ! That will never do,” he returned, quickly. 

“ Besides I cannot think of keeping my little bird 
caged up forever, alone. If she never has cpm- 


118 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


panions of her own age to warble with her, I fear she 
may grow weary of her confinenient.” 

“ Oh, Edward 1” she answered, reproachfully, how 
could you say so ! Was I ever so happy in my life as 
I have been here, with none but yourself and our little 
one and servants. I ask for nothing upon the earth 
but that God will grant us the peace and happiness 
that has hitherto been ours.” And the sweet, dear 
eyes were raised lovingly and confidingly to her hus- 
band’s face. 

‘‘God bless you, love,” he returned, kissing the 
white brow. “ And may our future be as happy as 
the past has been. But Alice Murray must come, I 
suppose,” he added, after a pause. “ We cannot put 
her off easily, and it is all foolishness in me about her 
leaving a cloud behind her, as I have fiincied she 
would, ever since I read that letter.” 

“ How" singular,” said Nina, thoughtfully. “ I can- 
not see how she could in any way disturb us. At 
least it would be but a ripple upon the clear surface 
of the stream, that would leave no trace when it should 
have passed away. Who could possess the power to 
mar our happiness so long as we are secure of each 
other’s love.” 

“ No one, my pet,” returned Edward, fondly, “ and 
we will dismiss all fears.” 

‘' We! Who entertained any but yourself,” retorted 
his wife, playfully. “For my part, I think it will be 
very nice to have a beautiful, accomplished ‘city 
cousin’ visit us in our rural cottage. It will be some- 
thing so new to entertain a permanent guest. And 
then,” she rattled on joyously, “ won’t we have her so 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 119 

ill love with our country liie, that she will never want 
to go back to the hot, dusty city again ! Ot' cool, 
sweet evenings we will all walk out, and stroll along 
the river banks, or climb the cliff, to catch a glimpse 
of the magnificent scenery beyond. We will also 
have books and music to while away the hours, which 
will be all too fleeting, so laden will they be with 
happiness. Then, of mornings, when I shall be too 
busy to leave home, you shall take her out riding — 
put her on my beautiful little Snow-flake, and I will 
stay here to prepare something for your dinner. Let 
me see ! You shall have fine turtle soup, vegetables, 
roast chicken and turkey, and nice cakes, strawberries 
and cream, such as she has never seen in the city. 
And then, oh ! won’t I make her stare, with the fresh 
fragrant prints of golden butter, the nice fresh eggs, 
and cold milk, richer and sweeter than she has ever 
tasted. Oh, Edward, she must come !” 

‘‘ And so she shall, little pet,” returned Mr. Piercelie, 
We’ll write to her at once.” 

There ! — that’s your own dear self again ; and Pll 
show you how happy we shall all be !” 

“And shan’t you feel lonely when she is gone?” 

“No indeed. I’ll have so much to do to keep things 
in order, and prepare for the winter. You kno\y by 
the time she goes away. I’ll have to begin packing 
away butter, eggs and pickles ; and there will be the 
blackberries, quinces, grapes, damsons, and peaches to 
preserve. I’ll have no time to feel lonely and discon- 
tented. Besides, this fairy cot, where I have ever 
been so blessed and happy, can never be anytliing but 
pleasant and attractive to me, come what may.” 


120 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

“God grant it,” was the fervent response. “Like 
the enlightened bard, I think ‘ there’s no place like 
home and I should grow inexpressibly sad to see my 
little wife becoming discontented with it.” 

“Ko fear of that,” dear Edward. “I could not be 
happy out of my sweet little home-circle, and as long 
as I possess my husband’s love, I shall never desire to 
leave it.” 

Tlie words were earnest and simple ; but, in after 
years, Edwad Piercelie remembered them, with agony 
and remorse tugging at his heart-strings ; and he 
would have given his life, twice over, had he possessed 
the power to recall those years, and again live over 
that happy period. 


CHAPTEK XII. 

Alice Murray came to Pose Cottage in the first 
flush of June, just when the golden harvests were 
ripening for the scythe, and the scarlet cherries hung 
in ^rgeous masses from drooping boughs. Professing 
to yTeld herself up entirely to the ease and freedom 
of country life, she ran hither and thither, like a wild 
thing, stopping but an instant in one place, where, 
like a little humming bird, she fluttered a moment 
over some rare plant or dainty flower, then away 
again, like a flash of light, while Nina and her hus- 
band followed laughingly. 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 121 

They felt more at ease with the gay girl, than they 
had expected to feel ; and the bright, laughing face 
of their guest and cousin, came, like a flash of sun- 
light, into the little cottage. 

Alice was tall and slender, with eyes and hair as 
black as the raven’s wing^ Her head was small, 
finely formed, and she wore her hair about lier neck 
in shining coils, which gave a singular expression to 
her elfish face. Her cheeks wore the brilliant tint of 
the carnation, and the small, pearblike teeth gleamed 
brightly within the scarlet, proudly curved lips that 
were perpetually wreathed in a smile, which was pe- 
culiar to herself. Evening after evening found them 
rambling on the river banks, or scaling some rugged 
height, till Nina, at last, laughingly, declared, they 
would either get drowned, or fall from some frightful 
precipice and break their necks ; or meet a worse 
fate, from her sad inattention to her house-keeping — • 
starve to death ; and, assuring them of her unwilling- 
ness to curtail their pleasure, bade them go without 
her. 

At first they protested strongly against this, but 
Nina gaily resisted their entreaties to accompany 
them every day ; and each evening saw the cousins 
strolling over the beautiful grounds, or mounted upon 
the spirited horses, of which Edward was so justly 
proud, flying over the valleys, more like Indians than 
civilized people. 

And Nina, glancing now and then from a door or 
window, as she glided swiftly about, engaged in 
household duties, would smile brightly at the thought 
of their pleasure, and then away, v/ith swift and skiii- 
11 


122 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


ful fingers, preparing some dainty luxury to refresh 
them upon their return. 

Thus weeks passed away, and a cloud began to 
darken the brightness of their, hitherto, uninterrupted 
happiness. Nina was no longer urged to accompany 
them in their walks or rides, but seemed to be wholly 
forgotten. 

And then the cheeks of the young wife began to 
pale, and tlie head to droop mournfully, as the con- 
viction that she was neglected forced itself upon her 
mind. She struggled hard to repel it, and to excuse 
them on the grounds of having herself urged them 
to go without her; but she did not expect, when 
doing this, that she was to be entirely dropped ofi*, 
and left alone, day after day, while they walked, rode 
or visited some fall, cliff or ruin, to while away the 
long summer hours, which began to drag heavily with 
the young wife. 

Aunt Sue, the old cook, had observed the change 
in her young mistress, and her honest old heart was 
grieved and indignant at its cause. 

One morning Nina was giving her some directions 
about dinner, while busily picking over some cur- 
rants, when she observed, abruptly: 

“ Miss Nina, Marse Edward an’ Miss Murray take 
heap o’ rides an’ walks lately.” 

“ Yes,” returned Nina, absently ; they seem to be 
enjoying themselves.” 

“ What for you neber go too ?” asked Sue, with a 
sidelong glance at her mistress. 

“ Oh, I can’t spare the time to go as often as they 
do, and should not feel like going if I could.” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


123 


“ Well, Miss Nim,” returned the old negress, work- 
ing away vigorously at her batch of wheat dough; 

you can do jis’ as you pleases, but if I was in your 
place, 1 should not ’low a husband of mine to go gal- 
lantin’ a young girl roun’, and never noticin’ me once, 
to the scandal ot' the whole country.” 

hsina’s lips blanched. 

“ Why, Sue, people don’t talk about it, do they?” 

“’Deed dey does! Didn’t I hear Miss Wilson 
whisper to Miss Jenkins last Sunday, cornin’ out ob 
de church, jis’ to look how de.woted Mr. Piercelie was 
to his cousin, while his poor wife was at home pinin’ 
her life away wid neglect 1 I tell you. Miss Nina, 
dose works shouldn’t go on any longer I Pd put a 
stop to dem, dat I would I” and she stepped back, 
witli a flourish of indignation, and began vigorously 
wiping the prespiration from her ebony visage. 

“ Oh 1” said Nina, with lips that grew whiter and 
whiter each moment ; “ this is too much 1 But are 
you certain, Sue, that you were not mistaken?” 

“ Mistaken I” indignantly replied Aunt Sue; “you 
tink, mistiss, dat I can’t believe my own ears ? Min’ 
dis, I knows dat people hab more room to talk dan 
you eber dreams ob ; my own eyes seed enough las’ 
night to convince me.” 

“ What did you see. Sue ?” asked Nina, trembling 
in every limb. But Sue shook her head mysterious- 
ly* 

“ You’s unhappy nuff. Miss Nina, ’thout me doin’ 
more to make you feel wuss. Ise fraid Ise done said 
too much already.” 

“Too much for you lo be silent now, and not 


124 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

enough to satisfy me. I must know what you saw,” 
repeated Nina, with a determined air. 

“Well, mistiss,” coming up close to her, and rub- 
bing the dough off one hand with the other, “ las’ 
night I went out, jist after supper, an’ who dus I see 
in de garden but Miss Alice an’ Marse Edward. De 
moon was shinin’ light as day, and dey was talkin’ 
low like, so I couldn’t hear what dey said, but I saw 
him put his arm roun’ her, and kiss her. Now, Miss 
Nina, what you think ob dat ar; ain’t I-right in say- 
in’ I’d put a stop to dese sort ob work ?” 

“ Susan, never let me hear of your watching your 
master in this manner again — nor any one. He may 
do as he pleases, but you shall not be a spy upon his 
actions ; understand this.” 

“ Laws ! Missis, I didn’t mean no harm by it,” cried 
Sue, in dismay. “ I jis ” 

“ No matter,” interrupted Nina, “it was very wrong, 
and you must never be guilty of such an action again.” 

With these words, she rose and set her pan of cur- 
rants upon the table, and left the kitchen. The par- 
lor was deserted, and she threw herself, with her face 
upon the pillows, upon the lounge, and burst into an 
irresistible fit of tears. 

“ Oh !” she murmured chokingly, “if I only dream- 
ed that he had ceased to love me— that another 
usurped my place in his heart — it would kill me.” 
And then she lay a long time, weeping and indulg- 
ing unhappy thoughts, shut up in that little room, 
where, for years, she had been so happy. 

Edward and Alice had gone out riding, and did 
not return till late, and Alice went directly to her 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 125 

room, to cliangef her dress for tea. Nina was busy 
with tea, and Edward, in an absent, preoccupied 
manner, threw himself upon tlie sofa, whistling softly, 
like one engaged in deep thought. He never once 
seemed to notice his wife, who glided so silently 
about the snowy tea-table, arranging the rich fruits 
and cakes her hands had culled and prepared to 
tempt his appetite. And poor Nina felt this keenly ; 
but she was a brave, true woman, and struggled hard 
against the tears which rose threateningly, as she 
strove to ask in a cheerful manner : 

“ Did you have a pleasant ride, Edward 

“ Very!” 

And he continued whistling. He did not look up, 
with the bright, fond smile he was wont to bestow 
upon her, and the young wife felt her heart swell 
almost to bursting, at the tone and manner. 

“ What ! not tired !” cried a clear, ringing voice in 
the doorway, and Alice glided in, in her radiant 
beauty — her face all aglow with brilliant smiles. 

“ Oh, no,” he exclaimed, springing up and leading 
her to a seat. “ Only lazy ; and you, I see, are more 
bright and full of spirit than ever, after our long 
launt. By the way, are you not hungry ?” 

“ A little. But, in my enjoyment, I forgot that we 
went away before dinner.” 

“ So did I, till I caught the scent of that delicious 
tea, and that reminded me that I am wofplly hungry. 
Nina, is tea ready ?” 

“ Yes, I have been waiting till Alice would come 
down,” replied Nina, gently, and moving to her place, 
as she spoke ; and her hand shook so, as she handed 


126 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


the tea, that she almost burned Edward’s fingers, 
which drew from him an exclamation of reproach : 

‘ ‘Why, Nina, how awkward you are ! What is the 
matter with you, to night?” 

“ I am not very well,” she replied, striving hard to 
keep back the tears. “ I have a bad headache.” 

“ Then why didn’nt you go to your room, and leave 
Jane to wait on us? She could have done as well.” 

“But I did not like to leave her to do it, knowing 
how you have always insisted upon my pouring your 
tea.” 

Mr. Piercelie took no notice of the remark, and, 
turning to Alice, entered into an animated conversa- 
tion upon the beauties of the scenes they had visited 
that day, while that poor pale-faced woman, with a 
crushed and agonized heart, sat quietly listening, and 
struggling bravely with the emotions that almost 
overwhelmed her in their fearful strife. 

After tea, the two, still engaged in lively conversa- 
tion, took chairs out upon the piazza, while Nina 
superintended the clearing away of the tea-things ; 
and then, with an aching head and breaking heart, 
the young wife sought her room, and threw herself, 
without undressing, upon the bed. 

That was a fearful hour for Nina Piercelie, and she 
shrank from its torture as a poor criminal shrinks 
from the blow of the axe that is to put an end to 
every earthly hope and aspiration. There were no 
tears now; only great drops of prespiration beaded 
the white brow, and rolled slowly off upon the pillow, 
drenching it as with the clammy dews of death, while 
every limb quivered, as if in the last agony. She 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


127 


bad twined her heart strings about that one loved 
being, as closely as the clinging vine wraps its ten- 
drils about the branches of a tree; and now that the 
tree was falling, she could feel the silken fibers snap- 
ping, slowly, one by one, and life itself seemed going 
out, in the awful struggle. 

Thus the hours passed and the deep hush of night 
was over the earth. The silence grew oppressive, 
for nothing but the wild beating of her own heart, 
and the gentle, regular respiration of her child, broke 
the profound stillness. Every vein seemed swollen 
with a tide of molten lead, and her temples throbbed? 
to bursting, with a burning pain. It was more than 
she could bear, and, with a stifled scream of agony, 
Mrs. Piercelie sprang from her couch, and hastened 
down stairs. 

Her design was to procure something with which 
to bathe her throbbing temples, and she hurried on, 
forgetful and heedless alike of everything except the 
fearful pain that was maddening her. 

Scarcely knowing what she did, she opened the 
front door, and passed out noiselessly, taking her way 
through a side-gate, down to the little meadow, where 
a cool spring bubbled up amid the violets. She did 
not heed the heavy dew in the long grass, that 
drenched her garments almost to her waist, but 
almost flew over the intervening space, and knelt 
beside the little spring, dashing the cool, bright wa- 
ters over her fevered brow. It stilled the wild throb- 
bing, and the low, unceasing bubbling and murmur 
of the waters soothed her disordered nerves, more 
than aught else could have done, and, grateful for 


128 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

the relief she had found, she laid her cheek down 
upon the wet grass, and wept — wept such tears as 
give relief to an overburdened heart ; while the stars 
looked calmly down upon her, and the moon sailed 
on as brightly through her azure course, as though 
no cloud had ever darkened its lustre. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

The little clock upon the mantle chimed the hour 
of twelve, as Nina glided again into the cottage, and 
she was about to ascend to her room, when the low 
hum of voices fell upon her car. The parlor door 
stood open, and a single stream of moonlight fell 
directly upon the sofa, where sat Edward and Alice. 
Nina shook violently, but a spell riveted her to the 
spot, and, in the deep stillness, every word that was 
uttered she heard as distinctly as though it had been 
spoken in her very ear. 

There were low words of tenderness, and vows of 
eternal affection interchanged, and the young wife 
seemed congealing into stone, as she heard one, who 
had solemnly promised, before God’s altar, to love, 
cherish and protect her through life, breathing in 
another’s ear more passionate words of love than she 
— his wife — had ever heard him utter. Then, to some 
of his fond assurances, the low voice of the syren came 
in reply : 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


129 


“ And Nina, your wife, what is to become of her 

“Nina! Oh, Alice, do not speak to me of her 
now 1” was the quick reply. “ I am sorry for her, 
poor child, but I cannot help it. She is not capable 
of bestowing upon me the great love with which 
you can enrich my life. She is only a simple, silly 
child, and you are a grand, beautiful woman. I 
never loved her — I knew not the true meaning of the 
word love till I beheld you, Alice, my own 1 my 
beautiful!” 

Oh, God ! this, then, was the reward for yeai*s of 
devotion and almost blind idolatry ! She had poured 
out her wealth of treasure at his feet, and he trampled 
upon it as nought but dust. Her brain reeled, and 
she was unable to move from the spot ; but she did 
not faint or utter the least cry. Agony and despair 
gave her strength, and she battled bravely with her 
weakness. 

She had heard enough ! Her husband no longer 
loved her — had never loved her, according to his own 
words — and the poor, broken-hearted wife looked 
forth into the future, as the weary traveler gazes far 
out upon a barren waste where he is compelled to go, 
but which will afford neither food nor drink to appease 
his gnawing hunger, or quench the raging thirst that 
consumes him. 

With a violent efibrt, Nina shook off the awful 
lethargy that was beginning to steal over her, and 
darted quickly up the stairs. In a moment’s time she 
had decided upon her course; and now, action alone 
remained for her. She did not pause or falter now. 
Strong in the intensity of her despair, she heeded 


130 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

nothing but what she had to do. She lighted a lamp, 
and going to the wardrobe, took down a black dress, 
which she hastily donned, and then, collecting a few 
of her most valuable articles, and packing a change 
of apparel for herself and child, in a small satchel^ 
she threw on her cloak and advanced to the little 
crib, where the child was so sweetly sleeping. 

She bent over her a moment, as if engaged in 
prayer, and the bright tears fell fast upon the little 
one's shining curls ; but the babe slept on unconscious 
of sorrow and suffering. 

At last the mother rose and lifted the little one 
gently from the crib, and folded a warm cloak about 
the tiny form; then putting on her own hood, and \ 
taking the sachel in one hand, she made her way 
noiselessly down the front stairway, and cautiously 
opening the door, passed out of the cottage. She 
heard the low murmur of voices still in the parlor, as 
she passed under the window, and her heart almost 
stilled as the sound of that loved voice fell, perhaps 
for the last time, upon her ear ; but she glided swiftly 
on, and passed out of the little gate into the open 
highway. 

One moment she paused upon a little knoll, and 
gazed wistfully upon the cottage, where she had 
known so much happiness, and the tears rained over 
her cheeks, she murmured a farewell to the scenes 
she had so much loved, and the sobs came thick and 
fast, when she turned away, murmuring— 

‘‘ Oh, Edward ! Alice ! God pity and forgive you.” 

The following morning, when, surprised at his wife’s 
non appearance, Edward Piercelie sought her room, 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 131 

/ 

he found that mother and child had both gone, no 
one knew whither. 

From that hour, Edward Piercelie was a wretched, 
remorse-stricken man. Then the scales fell from his 
eyes, and the syren’s chains no longer enfettered him, 
and he saw how cruelly unjust he had been to one, 
who, though scorned and wronged, was yet too pure 
and noble minded to reproach him for his baseness. 

Poor old Sue lamented, loudly, her mistress’ loss, 
and openly, and with the warmest indignation, charged 
lier master and Alice Murray with breaking her heart, 
and driving her forth from home, alone to wander 
among strangers — perhaps to die of want — a charge 
which one received with humility — the other, with 
rage. 

“ Will you sit here, and thus permit your own ser- 
vant to abuse us, Edward ?” she asked passionately, 
as Sue’s indignant accusations poured forth in a tor- 
rent. 

He did not reply, and Alice rose to her feet, tremb- 
ling in every limb. 

“ Leave the room,” she commanded, angrily. “ How 
dare you utter such words as you have done, to my 
face !” 

‘‘ Because dey’s de truf, an’ ye can’t dpny it. You’s 
not only broke my poor, dear Missis’ heart, but you’s 
made yourselves de by-words of de whole country.” 

“ It is false !” cried Alice, passionately. ‘‘ A false- 
hood of your own coinage? No one woul 1 dare to 
utter a word against my fair fame, because I accom- 
panied my cousin in his rides.” 

“ Maybe dey wouldn’t, if you’d a had dat cousin’s 


132 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

wife along wid you, or even a gone only ’casionally ; 
but ye went ebry day, from mornin’ till night, an’ she 
sat here alone, or worked her finger nails off for you, 
blisterin’ her sweet face an’ hands by de fire, to make 
you a nice cake or pie, while you was disgracin’ her 
and yerselves, an’ breakin’ her heart.” 

Great God ! Edward, will you permit that creature 
to go on thus ?” and Alice’s face was white as a sheet, 
with passion. 

“We deserve it,” he said, humbly. “ How can we 
deny her accusations, when we know and feel their 
justness? Oh, Alice, how blind we have been ! But 
I can see it all now ! Oh, Nina, Nina, my poor in- 
jured wife !” He sank back upon the sofa, and the 
proud girl stamped her foot impatiently upon the 
floor. 

“ Leave the room, I say !” and she hurled a book at 
her, with such force that, in dodging it, it missed Sue’s 
head, and shivered a large mirror, near which she 
stood, into a thousand pieces. Seeing the old negress 
still disposed to disobey her, she seized a chair, and 
would have hurled that, also, but Sue, seeing the 
danger, and really terrified at the fiendish expression 
of her .face, hastily left the room, muttering bitter 
anathemas against them both. 

“Neber mine,” she said, closing the door behind 
her. “Ye’ll repent this, sometime, and, when ye’r 
on yer dyin’ bed, hated and despised by everybody, 
ye’ll be sorry for the misery ye’ve made for one whose 
greatest fault was to heap kindness on you, when she 
ought to kicked ye, like a dog, from her door,” and 
Sue was gone. 


ORAj THE LOST WIFE. 


133 


Alice turned to Edward Picrcelie. 

“ This weakness surprises me, Edward. Have you 
gone mad, that you can hear yourself and me insulted, 
in this manner, and not use your authority to prevent 
and punish such insolence ? If that negro belonged 
to me, I would whip her within an inch of her life for 
this.” 

“ I will not !” said Edward, rising and pacing the 
floor. “ She is the only one who cared for, while we 
blindly wronged and neglected her. Oh, Alice, you 
ask me if I have gone mad, and I would give worlds 
if I could only answer ‘yes,’ and feel that all this 
injury, inflicted upon that pure, angelic girl, was but 
a freak of madness, on my part, and not blind, delib- 
erate cruelty I” 

“Poor weak fool I” sneered Alice, whose anger 
deprived her of her prudence. “How long is it 
since you confessed to . me that you had never 
loved the woman whom you foolishly made your 
wife ?” 

All the fire and resentment of Mr. Piercelie’s nature 
was roused at her tone and sneer, and a fierce g[uarrel 
ensued, and, on the same day, Alice Murray, 'dis- 
graced, and smarting under the disappointment and 
overthrow of all the schemes she had built up, left 
Kose Cottage to return to Kichmond. Then, without 
delay, Edward Piercelie departed in search of his 
lost wife. 

But this was no easy matter, for he had no clue to 
the direction she had taken, and she had left no word 
or line by which he might be guided. He made in- 
quiries in every direction, but no one had seen such a 


134 


OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 


person as he described, and weeks and months passed 
away in fruitless search. 

Old Sue was disconsolate, and declared she knew 
her poor Missis had drowned herself in the river, and 
as the time passed on, without any more success than 
had attended him through his fruitless inquiries, 
Edward began to fear that her surmises were true, 
and Nina had indeed put an end to a miserable ex- 
istence. 

Then the little cottage was deserted, and Edward 
Piercelie became a wanderer. But how different from 
the gentle being, whom his inconstancy had driven 
from him. Both had gone forth, it is true, with sorrow 
and agony at their hearts; but one bore a conscious- 
ness of having done her duty, so far as possible, as a 
true wife, while the other was stung with remorse 
an'd shame, for his cruelty and injustice. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

Out once more, alone and friendless, in the unchari- 
table world. But again with shame and indignation 
in her heart, and a fire in her brain that robbed her of 
reason. She had taken up her child at midnight, and 
stolen forth into the street, intent alone 'upon one 
thought — escape. She wanted to fiee from Harry’s 
love, from Madeline’s hate, from Dr. Clifton’s anger. 
Too much had been crowded upon the poor woman in 


135 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

her physical weakness. A fit of mental abberration 
W'as the result, in which she went out from amongst 
her friends, and took her lonely way toward a distant 
part of the city. 

On and on, she wandered, scarcely feeling the 
weight of the little form which at another time, she 
could not have carried. 

At last she come to the Battery, and there sinking 
in a friendly shadow, bowed her head over the child, 
who at length had closed her eyes with weariness after 
a season of quiet wonder at the strange proceedings of 
the mother. 

What passed through her mind during the remain- 
ing hours of night, was the wild brain of a maniac, 
and bears no record. She must have slept, at length. 
When the day dawned, restored to consciousness, she 
gazed around her in blank dismay, striving vainly to 
account for her presence in such a place. 

The hum of life was rising deeper and deeper 
abroad. Wheels rattled over the stones, and horses 
feet pattering before them, chimed in harshly with the 
rough jar. There were sounds of footsteps upon the 
pavements, and every where, indications of re-awak- 
ened life. 

Weak, trembling, perplexed. Ora rose and walked 
away with her now almost insupportable burden. 
This could not last long. A temporary place of rest 
must be found, where she could reflect what was to be 
done. # 

She was not long in finding a second class boarding 
house, where she resolved for the present to seek shel- 
ter. She reflected that here she would be more secure 


136 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

from observation and curiosity than amongst a higher 
class of people, and though her thoughts turned in 
disgust from its coarse appointments and associations, 
she felt that she must sooner or later accustom herself 
to adapt herself to circumstinces. Misfortune was 
pursuing her relentlessly. To what might it not 
drive her in the end? 

She rapped at the door, which was opened, and a 
shabby girl showed her into what she termed a parlor, 
but which was in reality, a most miserable excuse for 
a common sitting and dining room combined. She 
stated her business brie%. 

The landlady was a widow ; a little, sharp, parch- 
ment-visaged woman, with small, glittering black 
eyes, and a cunning, disagreeable expression of coun- 
tenance, that Ora did not like; but she reflected that 
she knew nothing of the woman, and she might be 
much better in heart than her face indicated ; and, at 
most, if it should prove otherwise, she would only 
remain a day or two, perhaps, and, if she should 
display an inclination to annoy her, she could easily 
seek other quarters. 

“I s’pose,” said the woman, eyeing her keenly, as 
she took a seat and lifted Ada to her lap, “ that you 
can pay your board in advance ? It takes money to 
buy food, and I can’t supply my boarders with neces- 
sary articles, unless they give me the means before- 
hand to do it.” 

“ I will pay you now for one day and night. After 
that I may go away. But if I remain longer, I will 
pay you punctually every morning.” 

‘‘Well, you can do as you like, but. if you’re in 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 137 

search of work, I’ll warrant you don’t get a place inside 
of a week, and you’d just as well pay me for a week 
in advance, and have the trouble off your hands, at 
once. What are you goin’ to do ?” 

“ I cannot tell. I shall probably get a situation as 
governess, somewhere.” 

The woman shook her head positively. 

“ Can’t do it. People don’t get governesses for their 
children now-a-days. Just as quick as they’re out of 
the cradle they sends them whoppin’ off to boardin’ 
school, and keeps them there till they’re fifteen or six- 
teen, and then they brings them out and marry’s them 
right off. 'No use for governesses, you see.” 

Ora smiled, in spite of herself, at this, and replied, 
with an effort to be grave : 

“ I presume governesses are not wholly excluded. 
At least I have just left a place where I held such an 
office.” 

“ What made you leave ? Was it a nice place ?” 

‘Wery nice,” said Ora, replying to' the last question, 
and taking no notice of the first. 

‘‘ They gave you good wages, I reckon?” glancing 
at her neat black silk, and the child’s tastefully em- 
broidered frock. 

‘‘ Yery good,” returned Ora, quietly. 

“ Many children ?” 

“ Three.” 

“ How long had you been there ?” 

‘‘ Three months.” 

The children had got through, I s’pose, with their 
studies ?” 

‘‘Ho.” 


12 


138 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


“ Then, what made yon leave sucli a nice place ? I 
reckon, though, you had some ditticulty with them.’’ 

“ JS^o. Circumstances, which could not interest you, 
caused me to leave,” answered Mrs. Meredith, wearied 
with the woman’s inquisitiveness, and fearing for the 
length of the interview. 

‘‘ But I am worn and tired, and would be glad to go 
to my room, if you will be so good as to show me to 
it,” she continued, rising. 

“ Oh, sit down. I’ll have to have one fixed up a 
little for you first, and you can just lay your little girl 
on the lounge there, while I have something brought 
in for you to eat.” 

Mrs. Meredith sank back, wearily, and the woman 
left the room. She felt that she had not chosen the 
best of boarding-houses, as she glanced around the 
little apartment, filled with greasy, shabby furniture. 
She shuddered, as she laid Ada’s little head upon the 
soiled pillow of the lounge; but her arms ached with 
her weight, and through trouble and exhaustion, she 
felt as though she would faint. 

In a short time the woman returned with a cup of 
tea, and a dry, hard looking piece of brown bread. 
Ora turned from it in disgust. 

“ You’d better drink it,” urged the woman. ‘'There’s 
nothing half so strengthening as a good cup of tea. It 
refreshes one amazingl3^ Drink it, do.” 

“ No, thank you, I cannot,” replied Ora, “ I only 
need rest to refresh me. If you can have a nice piece 
of toast and a cup of strong tea for me by dinner time, 
I think I may feel more like eating.” 

Well, just as you like,” returned her hostess, in a 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


139 




tone that savored of displeasure. “ But I thought you 
might feel faint, and a good cup of tea would do you 
good.” 

“ I’m sure I thank you kindly, for your thoughtful 
attention, and am sorry for the trouble you have had 
to get it, since I have no appetite for it.” 

Mrs. Meredith’s manner was so gentle, while utter- 
ing these words, and her face shone so full of touching 
sadness, that the woman forgot her displeasure at once, 
in contemplating the beautiful but sorrow-stricken 
woman before her. 

Her next words, however, proved that her inquisitive 
propensities predominated over her sympathies. 

“You’ve been married, I suppose?” 

“ Yes,” replied Ora, with a slight start. 

“How long?” 

“ Six years.” 

“Six years !” Why, bless my soul, you must have 
been almost a baby six years ago, from your looks 
now !” 

“I was fifteen,” said Ora, with a faint smile at the 
woman’s astonishment. 

“Fifteen! Well, that’s a heap too young to marry. 
You ought to have stayed at home with your mother a 
while longer, and then there’d been plenty time to see 
trouble.” 

“Alas!” replied the lady sadly, “I had neither 
fiither nor mother. I was an orphan.” 

“ How long have they been dead ?” 

“ I was but ten when they died.” 

“Poor thing 1” with a touch of pity. “ An orphan 
at ten, and a widow at twenty-one! Well, well. 


140 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

Trouble comes to all of us. 1 lost my poor, dear hu^^^ 
baud, Mr. Icliabod Jenkius, this ten years ago, and 
I’ve had to scuffle mighty hard to git along, but some 
way I always doue it. I aint like some people, who 
set down and cry, with their hands lyin’ idle in their ^ 
laps, when trouble comes. I know I loved my poor 
old man jist as well as any woman ever could ; but 
when God saw fit to take him from me, 1 said ‘ God’s 
will be done,’ for, surely, if He deprives me of one. 

He will, in His mercy, send another to comfort me ; 
and so I’ve managed to git along this far, and am 
waiting patiently for the protector. I feel He will not 
fail to send one to me.” 

“How,” she continued, settling herself comfortably 
in her arm chair, and taking up a blue stocking, whose 
color could scarcely be discerned for dust and grease, 

“If I was to marry a hundred times, I’d never git sich 
another man as Mr. Jenkins was, ’cept by the rarest 
chance. While he lived, I always had some one to 
work for me, and keep me in plenty ; while, at the 
same time, I always had my own way about every- 
thing. I’ve always thought a woman knowed better 
how to manage things than men. They git along so 
much nicer with everything. Men are such gVeat 
gawky, awkward things, generally, they do nothing 
but blotch and blunder if it wasn’t for the women. 

I’ve told my poor, dear Jenkins many and many’s 
the time, that he would starve to death if it wasn’t for 
me, to tell and direct him about everything, and he 
was smart and sensible enough to see the truth of it.” 

Ora saw that Mrs. Jenkins was disposed to be com- 
municative, but it was more agreeable than being 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


141 


questioiioJ, and she suffered lier to go on without 
interruption. Sitting with her face to the window, 
where she could look out upon the street, and watch 
the throng as it surged on, she almost forgot her, in- 
deed ; and it was only the incessant hum of her voice 
that kept her cognizant of her presence. 

“But you know,” resumed Mrs. Jenkins, “thatit’s 
a hard thing to lose a good, kind husband ; and more 
especially when he’s descended from one of the first 
families in the old country. Yes, Jenkins was one of 
the proudest names that graced the annals of the 
whole united continent. Ko man could boast of a 
prouder, than my poor lost Ichabod.” 

“He was borned and raised on the land of a real 
lord — Lord Wentworth, of England — and was raised 
in the first style. When he was only fourteen, lie 
served as a sort of valet to young master Wentworth, 
and after he had grown up to be a man, became head 
valet — that was after his old master died, and master 
Fredric fell heir to the estate— and I’m sure, Lord 
Fredric thought the world and all of him. 

“ But some people say somebody they call Fortune, 
‘ is a fickle jade,’ and I s’pose it’s so, for my poor, dear 
Ichabod didn’t keep his place long after his old master 
died . Lord Fredric Wentworth came home one morn- 
ing, after a night spent in carousal, and found his 
handsomest diamond ring was missing ; and some- 
way it happened that the worst suspicions fell on my 
poor husband, and he was searched, and not having 
the stolen ring about him, they had his trunk searched, 
and there it was, sure enough, where somebody had 
put it, no doubt, to get my husband locked up in jail. 


142 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


tlirongh motives of revenge. At niiy rate, I alwaVvS 
thought so, and I had the best of reasons : for a young 
man I knew, one of the lower servants, liad had a 
grudge against him ever since he married me, which 
was just about two weeks before Lord Wentworth died. 

“He had begged me to have him again and again, 
on his very knees, but I always wouldn't. I had done 
surrendered all the great wealth of my spotless affec- 
tions to my Ichabod, and there wasn’t no room in my 
heart for even the shadow of another’s image. 

“ So, as I said, I always thought he put that ring 
there, just through pure revenge, and he might a 
thought if he could once get Ichabod out of the way, 
he’d maybe get a chance to carry me off by main force. 
However, be that as it may, my poor husband was 
sent off to prison, and I thought I should go crazy 
when they took him from me. Oh, that was a sad, 
sad time, but ‘ the darkest hour come jist before day,’ 
you know, and one morning who should come into my 
room, jist as it was beginning to get light, but Ichabod 
himself, creeping on tiptoe and looking skeered half to 
death. 

“ ‘Betty,’ said he, in a quick whisper — 

“ ‘ What do you want, Ichobod V says I. 

“ ‘Git up and dress,’ says he. ‘ I am going away, 
and want you to go with me.’ 

u c Why, where are you going?’ says I, in surprise. 

“ ‘To America,’ says he. 

“‘To America,’ says I. ‘ What ! away across the 
ocean V 

“ ‘ Yes,’ says he. ‘ Make haste, or we’ll be too late 
for the ship that’s going out.’ 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 143 

“ ‘ But, Ichabocl, I don’t want to go,’ says I. ‘ What 
are you going there for V 

“ ‘ Listen, Betty,’ says he, bending down close to my 
ear, ‘ I’ve jist escaped from jail, and I won’t be put 
back there again for stealing a thing I never saw ; and 
I’m going to leave these cursed wretches, and go where 
gentlemen are treated like gentlemen. Isow, Betty, 
you know how I’ve always loved you better than any- 
body in the world, and if you have the least bit of love 
for me you’ll be quiet, and git up at once and go along 
with me.’ 

“ I could’nt stand it when he talked so affectionate 
to me, and I got right up, without another word, and 
gathered up my things and followed him to the ship, 
where we took passage for America, and we came 
right here, where we lived ever since, till, poor, dear 
Ichabod died, and left me a poor lone widow, without 
anybody in the wide world to do anything for me, since 
he’s gone.” 

Here Mrs. Jenkins covered her eyes with her blue 
checked apron, and gave way to an imaginary fit of 
tears, inly wondering, all the while, that her guest 
should seem so little impressed with her pathetic story. 


CHAPTER XY. 


“ Madeline, my daughter, what is the matter?” 

Lina sat with pale features and compressed lips 
behind the coffee urn as her father entered with the 
greeting above recorded. She answered in simple 
and quiet sorrow: 

“ Mrs. Meredith is gone, papa.” 

“ Gone ! Mrs. Meredith gone !” he repeated. “ Why, 
where to — when ?” 

“Last night she must have left the house, but 
where to, God and herself alone know. Oh, papa, I 
cannot tell you how grieved I am. I had so much 
faith in her. I trusted her, and loved her in spite of 
everything, but this last act has completed her over- 
throw. If she was innocent, and knew it, why did 
she leave us? Ah ! I cannot express the pain I feel at 
this step. Yet it has saved me the trouble of turning 
her away.” 

“ Gone, and without a word of explanation or self 
defence. Poor, misguided woman ! What is to be- 
come of her? Lina, she must have been out of mone}’, 
very nearly. I have not paid her for the last month 
as yet, and with all her little needs, she could not have 
liad much left. Did she not send to you for any at 
any time since this affair?” 

“ No, sir. I have not seen or spoken to her since 
the occurrence of yesterday. I intended to have gone 
( 144 ) 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE, 


145 


to her last night, I pitied her so much, but it was late 
when I was left at liberty, and then I supposed she 
had retired, as every thing was still in her room,” 
“Well, welll” the Dr, sighed heavily, “It is a 
sad affair all the waj’ through, and 1 cant just see my 
way clearly how to act. Yet her last step removes 
the necessity of investigating the matter in her behalf. 
The best we can do, is to leave the whole thing lo die 
away, and say no more about it.” 

Poor Lina was willing enough to drop it, for it was 
a subject frought with such pain, she shrank instinc- 
tively from openly canvassing it. 

A new thought, however, seemed to strike her as 
she sat thoughtfully waiting the entrance of the other 
members of the family. She lifted to her father, a 
pair of eyes in which fear shone deeply, 

“ Papa, what if she should destroy herself.” He too 
looked disturbed, but in a moment he replied reassur- 
ingly : “ I do not think we need fear so bad an end as 
this. If she could do such a thing, I am much mis- 
taken in her character — in all respects!” he added 
emphatically. 

“Yet, remember how sensitive she is, and the fact 
that she took nothing but her child with her, and the 
clothes they wore. We cannot tell how the thought of 
diso-raee amongst us who have treated her so well, 
would work upon her feeliiags. Oh, I fear I .shall 
■{'lever rest again until I know where she is, and what 
she is doing, if indeed alive. Papa, in pity fm- her, 
poor, forlorn, and as you say, misguided woman — in- 
stitute a search. It will relieve my suspense.” 

He promised to do so, and on the entrance of the 
13 


146 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


little girls, shortly followed by Harry, they all sat 
down to breakfast. 

The young man looked haggard and worn as if he 
had not slept. Madeline’s gaze rested on his face 
anxiously, but to her kind inquiries, he replied shortly 
that he was “ well enough,” and dispatched his break- 
fast silently. 

When he rose from the table, Madeline followed 
him into the hall. 

“ Brother, Mrs. Meredith went away last night.” 

He was just in the act of taking his hat from the 
rack when her words fell upon his ears, and he wheeled 
upon her almost fiercely. 

“ What ! gone I You are mad ! How could she 
leave the house without anybody knowing it ?” 

“ Brother !” 

The sister’s grieved, astonished tone recalled him to 
himself a little. 

“ Sister, pardon me. I do not mean to speak un- 
kindly, but I believe that woman has completely upset 
us all ! In the name of all that is good, why did she 
leave us in this manner ? She is either guilty or a 
pitiful coward ! I was disposed to credit her for some- 
thing better.” 

He turned and strode up the stairway, instead of 
going out as at first he had intended to do, his 
face stony, lips sternly compressed, and dark eyes 
blazing. 

Madeline looked after him, inwardly wondering why 
he should be so strongly moved ; but all thought of 
his strange conduct fled when she discovered Agnes at 
her side, with tightly locked hands, and a face from 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 147 

which all color had fled. She appeared scarcely to 
breathe as she whispered gaspingly. 

Lina, Lina I did you say she had gone?” 

“Why, yes, child. But — Agnes, Agnes! Papa, 
Come!” 

The first words had scarcely left her lips ere the 
child sank lifeless at her feet, white and still as if 
death had smitten her. Dr. Clifton hastened forward 
and took her from his daughter’s arms, carrying her 
into the breakfast room and dashing water over her 
face. 

In a minute she recovered conciousness, but turned 
her face into the sofa pillows on which they laid her, 
and refused to be comforted. 

“I declare,” exclaimed Kate recovering from her 
terror. “I do believe our governess was a witch and 
has left a spell upon us all. Who would have thought 
Aggie could care so much about anybody ?” 

“ Hush ! my love,” commanded her father. He bent 
tenderly over the grieving child. 

“Agnes, darling, dont be so disturbed. We all 
feel very much grieved, but I am afraid she is not 
worth the feelings we have wasted on her.” 

With the aspect of a little fury she started up now, 
and confronted him with blazing eyes. 

“ Dont say that 1 Dont anybody dare to say that 
of her ! She was worth all and more than we could 
give her ! She was as good as an angel. I could ItilL 
anybody, to hear them say one word against her ! I 
wont hear it 1 Oh I I loved her so much 1 and now 
she’s 'gone — been driven away by a bad, bad man ! 
Oh I there is nobody to love me now ! I shall die!” 


148 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

Choked with anguish, she sank back aii l sobbed 
bitterly. 

“ Madeline, take this girl in charge, my love. I 
dont know how to manage her,” said the Dr. pitying- 
ly, but wearily. Kate stoutly declared ‘‘ she ought to 
be well whipped for being so saucy to papa,” and 
Mary looked on curiously. With tears streaming over 
her face, Madeline gently slipped her arm around 
Agnes’ waist and drew her from the room leading her 
up stairs in silence. With her woman’s heart, she 
comprehended, in a measure, something of the wild 
grief that stirred the little bosom of the passionate 
orphan, and there was more of sorrow than auger in 
the quieting words she uttered, when she had taken 
her kindly to her own room and tried to soothe her. 

Meantime, did Ora remember, sitting in the loneli- 
ness of her miserable chamber, how this child would 
sorrow for her? Yes, and wept many, many bitter 
tears over the memory. 

Since the moment of her waking, she had striven to 
account for the manner in which she left the house, 
but vainly. She recalled plainly the event of the pro- 
ceeding day, and that which followed in the evening; 
but beyond that, all was blank until she found herself 
alone, with her child in her arms, seated by the walls 
of the Battery. A thought of Harry, and that pas- 
sionate confession, crimsoned her brow with shame, — 
of Agnes, and her gentle heart ached with anguish— 
of Madeline, of Dr. Clifton, and she was overwhelmed 
with contending emotions of shame, regret, gratitude. 
What would they think of her now 1 Ah, she felt but 
too well that all their good opinion of her formerly 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 149 

must give way now, and they would despise her for- 
ever ! She must have fallen asleep, and in that state 
left the house. There was no other way in which 
conjecture could run. If they had put her out, it 
would not have been in the middle of the night — it 
could not have been done without some knowledge of 
the act on her part. 

The day passed drearily away. Nothing occurred 
to distract her thoughts from her misery, except neces. 
sary care of Ada, and Mrs. Jenkins’ officious atten- 
tions. The prattle of the former was unceasing. She 
was full of wonder at their strange surroundings, and 
asked numberless questions. The poor mother was 
glad when slumber at last laid a temporary seal upon 
the curious eyes, and hushed the childish voice to 
quietude, as night softly folded her dark mantle over 
slumbering Nature. 

A week passed away in this miserable state. All 
of the meagre sum her purse contained, was at length 
expended, and Ora was obliged to sell her watch to 
supply her wants. It was hard to part with so useful 
an article, endeared to her by long use and past asso- 
ciations. But she could not bear the thought of in- 
debtedness to the coarse, curious woman under whose 
roof she had taken shelter, and as yet she could not 
muster courage to go forth in the world, seeking for 
labor which she felt herself unable to perform. 

There were a few other female boarders in the house, 
of whom she caught a glimpse occasionally. They 
came and went every day, as if intent upon their 
several avocations. One frail, sallow looking being, 
with a dry, hard cough, passed her room every morn- 


150 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

ing with a bundle under her arm which she carried to 
her own chamber, taking it away again in the evening. 
Ora surmised rightly, that the woman was a seam- 
stress, bringing and carrying away her daily work. 

One morning she accosted her as she went by, with 
a question. 

‘‘Good morning. Is that sewing you have with 
you ?” 

The woman looked at her and answered shortly. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Pardon me, but where do you get it ? Can 1 obtain 
some from the same place ? I want to do something.” 

“ I dont know.” The woman said stopping and 
turning square around. “ Perhaps you can, but you 
dont look much fit to do it, any more than myself.” 

Her language though half rude in tone, was not 
without an air of culture. She spoke like an educa- 
ted person. Looking at her intently. Ora became in- 
terested. 

“ I should really like to try, if you will tell me 
where to go. Is it asking too much of you ?” 

“ Ho, I will help you if I can. You have a child, 
havn’t you ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Then if the work can be had, to-morrow morning 
I will bring a double portion so you need not leave 
her. You can take the work to your room and try it, 
and get your part of the pay when it is done.” 

“ Thank you ! you are very kind, but — ” The 
woman did not stop to hear her finish the sentence. 
Entering her chamber, she closed the door abruptly. 

The image of this hollow eyed, sallow faced woman 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 151 

haunted Ora all da}". She could not rest when she 
remembered how frail and worn she looked. 

Mrs. Jenkins with a species of rude delicacy, sent 
or brought Ora’s meals to her room. After dinner on 
that day, when the things had been cleared away, she 
went resolutely to the stranger’s door and knocked. 
She expected to be repulsed, but a good impulse was 
working in her heart, and she determined to persevere 
in the purpose which had taken possession of her. 

The first tap was unheeded. The second brought 
the inmate to the door. She looked surprised when 
she saw who her visitor was, and asked ungraciously ; 

‘‘What do you want?” 

“I am doing nothing, and feel tired of idleness. 
Let me help you with the work you have on hand.” 

“ I cant do it. I have need for all I shall get to- 
day for my work.” 

“ You mistake me. I do not want the money. I 
have enough for present purposes. I only want some- 
thing to keep me busy. You are looking tired, too, 
and if I help you, you will get done sooner, so you 
can rest.” 

Ora’s voice was full of sweet, womanly sympathy. 
The stranger looked at her sharply, but was evidently 
softened by her manner, even while answering her in 
the same abrupt tone. 

“ Poor people cannot afibrd to work for anybody but 
themselves, and you are poor, I fancy, or you would 
not be here. When you have toiled as long for your 
daily bread as I have, you will know better than to 
give away your time and strength for nothing.” 

‘'Ah, but remember that my time is better spent 


152 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


in aiding you, when I see you looking worn and ill, 
than in doing nothing. The busy fingers, you know, 
always lead the brain away from that which inostr 
wearies it. You will do me a kindness, to let me 
lielp you.” 

Well, if you are determined, you may wait here; 

1 will get the work for you.” 

She closed the door in her face, and left her stand- 
ing there for several minutes. Then she came out 
and gave her a garment placed and basted read}" to 
sew. 

“Do you know anything about such work ?” she 
asked as Ora took it from her hands. 

“ O, yes. 1 think 1 can sew most anything, respect- 
ably.” 

Ora smiled pleasantly as she said the words. Her 
heart was very heavy, but she saw a woman, poor 
and friendless like herself, toiling on alone. The time 
might come when a smile and word of sy)npathy 
would appear like a priceless boon to her weary 
soul, even as a smile and kind word might prove to 
this stranger. 

“When you get tired, come and give it back to me. 
Dont weary yourself too much with it.” 

“ JYo fear of that.” 

Each went into their own rooms, and Ora’s swift 
fingers plied the needle steadily, while her thoughts 
w^ere busy with her neighbor. It was well that some- 
thing had come between her and the brooding thoughts 
•of personal suffering, and that interest in another 
won her from herself. She was fast becoming unfitted 
for struggling with the difficulties of her new position. 


153 


OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 

Ada took a little pile of* blocks which Mrs. Jenkins 
had given her, and amused herself with building houses 
and prattling of a thousand things while so engaged. 
Sometimes the mother paused to watch her, and with 
loving kindness, answer her questions. But a thought 
of the pale woman across the hall, would again set 
her fingers to going, and before dark, she had 
finished the work very neatly, and carried it to the 
owner. 

Standing closely in the door which she opened but 
slightly, the woman examined it minutely, then she 
looked up and said : 

“You sew very well, and have done it quickly. I 
thank you for your aid.” 

Without farther words, she turned and again shut 
the door in her face. Evidently she willed to live in 
severe seclusion. Ora was too refined, and tender of 
other’s feelings to wish to pry into their lives, but she 
felt strangely interested in this poor forlorn being, and 
was almost disposed to feel disappointed at the deci- 
ded treatment she received at her hands. 

At the moment she turned away, Mrs. Jenkins 
came up stairs. 

“What,” she said. “Have you been trying to git 
acquainted with that queer bird ? You’ll find it hard 
work, if that’s your game. She has been in that 
room over a month now, and not a blessed soul has 
seen the inside since thar she’s been. Once I went to 
have a little chat cause she appeared so lonesome like, 
but she gave me to understand that my room was 
better than iny company, an’ refused to let me in. I 
pretended to be offended that I couldn’t visit ladies in 


154 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


my owPx house, an’ hinted as much to her, when she 
up an’ said so proud like : 

“‘Madam, I pay you what you ask for the room. 
While I do this it is mine^ and I shall receive whom- 
soever I please. Understand, that I have no time to 
waste in gossip, and no desire for such pastime if I 
had.’” 

“ She puts on airs, I tell you, but she pays me a 
good price, regular every week to the day an’ hour, so 
I keeps her. But she’s mighty queer.” 

Ora had no desire for a gossip with her communi- 
tive landlady, and on a trifling pretext, entered her 
room as soon as she could break away. 

A few more days passed, but now employment 
rendered the weary woman more content with her 
changed estate. Every day her neighbor brought her 
work from the store where she obtained her own, and 
carried it back when done. The pittance gained was 
slight, but every night it was punctually paid into her 
hand, and it was that much assurance against future 
want. 


CHAPTER XYL 


Charles Lafarge sat in his room, lazily puffing 
forth blue volumes of smoke from a choice cigar, and 
watching the thin, spiral wreaths rise upward and 
melt away, when a heavy knock upon the door startled 
him from the pleasing indulgence. The next moment 
Guy Bartoni was in the room, looking excited and 
impatient. 

Halloa, Guy ! you are late, old boy. What has 
kept you so long?” 

“ Why, the devil’s to pay !” was the profane and 
emphatic rejoinder. 

“ How ? what’s gone wrong ? ” 

“Hothing, but everything will go wrong, if we 
dont look out.” 

Guy drew a chair close to his friend, and sat down. 
His face was very dark and troubled. 

“Charley, you remember Antoinette Wade?” 

“ Yes, I should think so.” 

“ Well, she is in Hew York !” 

“ The devil she is !” 

Both faces were now clouded with deep concern. 

“ Yes,” continued Guy, “she is here ; I cannot be 
mistaken. For more than a week I have followed her 
at various times, trying to get a glimpse of her face, 
which was concealed by a thick veil. I first saw her 
come out of L — ’s store on Broadway, and something 
( 155 ) 


156 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

in her carriage attracted me. I followed her then, 
but lost her in the crowd. Since that I have seen her 
several times, always losing her as at first. Last 
Saturday, I caught a glimpse of her in the Park, but 
was no more successful in seeing her face than on 
former occasions. The Keeper told me that she came 
there every Saturday since the weather had been warm 
enough, and he has never seen her raise her veil 
once.” 

This afternoon as I came up Broadway pretty late 
I met Sefton, who, clapping me on the shoulder, con- 
gratulated me on my approaching marriage with Miss 
Clifton. We stood talking* for several minutes, and I 
had just uttered the words : ‘ Yes, the day has been 
fixed, at last, and I shall have the loveliest bride in New 
York,’ when I felt some one press almost rudely 
against me, and a little piece of card board was slipped 
in my hand which hung at my side. Here it is.” 

He handed it to Charley as he spoke. In faint, 
delicate tracery was pencilled : 

“ Two wives will imprison you for bigamy ^ 

“ And what became of the person ? You saw her 
who slipped this in your hand?” 

“Yes, it was the veiled woman. I did not want 
Sefton to understand the affair, and put him oflf laugh- 
ingly when he questioned me curiously as to what it 
meant. As soon as I could, I got away and followed 
her, but she was no whore to be seen. All the evening 
has been passed fruitlessly, and that it was which kept 
me so late.” 

“ You think this woman was Antoinette?” 

“ Yes, I am confident of the fact.” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 157 

“ Bad I bad ! Doubtless slie heard you name the 
lady, and the appointed day for your marriage?” 

“ Too surely, I fear; and if she did, the game’s up. 
'No hope of the affair being over, and we safely off for 
Europe before she can do all tlie mischief that lies in 
her power. I say, Charley, she must be found, and 
safely disposed of. I thought myself safe, when that 
little white-faced governess was out of the way, but 
here a more dangerous foe steps in her shoes. By the 
Lord, if I ever set eyes on her again, I will not let 
her escape I” 

“ And what are you going to do with her when you 
get her ?” questioned Lafarge. 

Guy looked thoughtfully at the ceiling for a full 
minute before answering. 

“ I have thought of a way,” he said, turning a 
strange look upon his companion. “You remember 
Jarvis? He is still on hand, though he has removed 
the basis of operations to a distant locality from the 
old quarters. I told you all about him before we came 
here.” 

“ Yes, I do remember, but is it safe, quite safe, 
Guy?” 

“Pshaw I yes I Money will do anything. I have 
the old fellow under my thumb, and he’s bound to do 
my will. He has more at stake in the game than I 
have, and blowing on me would hardly answer. 
Besides, she’s alone here. AVho is there to interest 
themselves to find her out? I tell you, those institu- 
tions are capital when a fellow wants to get rid of 
troublesome/’r/^n /” 

“How will you manage the affair?” 


158 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

‘‘That remains to be seen. Circumstances must 1 
guide me for the present, and will, no doubt, soon 
develope a plan of action.” 

“ Yery well, jmu know best, old fellow ! May you 
be successful. But come ; are we to keep our engage- 
ment with your fair fiancee 

“ Certainly. Plenty of time, if we go at once. Are 
you ready ?” 

The two descended the stairs, went out upon the ^ 
street, and with arm locked in arm proceeded toward 
Dr. Clifton’s. 

Madeline had that evening a small company of select 
friends for the enjoyment of a private musical enter- 
tainment. Some of the most cultivated talent in the 
great city, were collected in the spacious music room, 
now one blaze of brilliance and beauty. The young 
hostess was looking surpassingly lovely, as she moved 
among her guests ; a dress of silver grey silk, fitting j 
closely to her perfect form, coming up to the throat, 
and falling away in wide fiowing sleeves from the 
white arms. Guy had never seen her more beautiful, 
and a pang wrung the guilty heart when he remem:^ 
bered how unworthy he was of such a treasure. 
Perhaps she might never be his ! There was a dark 
Fate over them. Should she sufier the sable veil to 
fall between him and his love, he was lost eternally. 

He approached her with apologies for his tardiness, 
but in his heart he was muttering desperate vows to 
win her or die in the efibrt. He was more determined, 
now that a possibility of losing her appeared to his 
awakened heart. 

That night the mansion rung with mirth and music. 



ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


159 


Wit and humor flashed fortli amid jewels of thought, 
and every heart in the little assembly beat to a meas- 
ure that is the nearest akin to perfect happiness the 
soul can reach, while conflned in an earthly casket. 

Guy was the last to leave when the little i)arty 
broke up. While the servants were putting out the 
lights, he drew his betrothed into the grand old library 
where they had spent many happy evenings together, 
and took a lover’s leave. 

“Ah!” he whispered, “how hard it is to say 
‘ good bye,’ even though for a little while. How 
impatient I am for the time to come when I may 
never more leave you, darling Madeline.” 

He drew her blushingly within his arms, and pressed 
a kiss on the pure forehead. It was the last kiss he 
ever printed there. 


CHAPTER XYII. 


April had passed with her showers and sunshine, 
and May took up her buds and blossoms, weaving 
them into a wreath to twine about her brow as she 
smilingly began her journey in the new year. 

As the weather grew warmer, Mrs. Meredith grew 
more and more oppressed with a heavy torpor that 
settled over her whole being. It was with very great 
effort that she continued the work with which her 
strange friend supplied her. In two weeks time from 
the beginning, she found herself unable to perform 
her usual task of daily labor. 

In the last few days, her neighbor had appeared 
more taciturn and stern than usual. Now she came 
in, tapped at Ora’s door, and laid down the bundle 
without a word, passing to her own room without ever 
seeming to think of the curiosity such conduct might 
excite. In the evening she carried it away again in 
the same manner. She usually came in after this 
was done, about eight o’clock, and was seen no more 
until the following morning. 

It was the day following that on which Guy Bartoni 
had been alarmed by the incident on Broadway, that 
she came to Ora’s room early in the afternoon with a 
neat roll of work in her hand. Her manner was not 
less distant than usual, but there was a something 
( 160 ) 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 161 

strangely sweet in her voice as she spoke, handing 
the bundle to Mrs. Meredith as she did so : 

“ I have an important errand to do this afternoon, 
but I have promised this work shall go home as 
usual to-night. I have not time to finish it and 
accomplish the other, so I come to you. If you will 
do it, I will make the consideration equal to the 
task.” 

She was looking straight at the pale, fast fading 
face of the sufferer as she spoke, and noting the rapid 
change of the last few days, drew back and said 
hesitatingly: 

‘‘Yet I ought not to set you at a double task. 
You have enough of your own, which it is quite as 
necessary to finish, and are already worn almost to 
death. I am worse than blind to have thought of 
it. I would not, had it not seemed so imperative. 
I have tried to put it off, but all day something haunted 
me, urging the necessity of immediate action. Much 
may depend upon it — the peace and happiness of a 
life-time are often marred by an hour’s neglect of a 
duty we owe to others. Yeti don’t know just how 
I ought to act in this. I have passed my word, and 
do not like to break it.” 

“ Dont think of it. I can easily do what is neces- 
sary,” answered Ora, taking the work from her 
reluctant hand. “ If there is, as yon hint, an abso- 
lute necessity of performing a duty to secure another’s 
happiness, you would be culpably wrong to neglect 
that duty. Go by all means, and do not feel concerned 
for me. God will give me strength for the labor I 

am compelled to p9rform.” 

14 


162 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


“ Do you honestly believe that queried the woman 
with an intense look that held Ora’s gaze in spite of 
herself. 

“Assuredly I do.” 

'-^Then cling to your faithP'^ was returned impres- 
sively ; but the words were followed by a short hard 
laugh strangely at variance with her manner as she 
uttered them. Then she added half in explana- 
tion : 

“ I once had faith, but I have lost it — aye ! even 
in God! Dont stare. It began in my own home, 
among friends I trusted, and the evil followed me 
till all confidence in mortals fled, and with it, my faith 
in God, eventually. You look what I know you feel, 
but it is true, and your horror will not change the 
bitter truth. I would give my life for one tithe of 
my old trust. Then I had charity, and now I have 
none. Without charity, the human heart is like a 
flower without either dew or rain to nourish it, and 
everything beautiful or lovely in it fades. Dry and 
dead, without odor or color — how do we look upon it ? 
Just like that flower is my heart to-day, without faith, 
hope or charity. Oh 1 see to it, that you preserve 
your faith, woman !” 

Hard, bitter, almost passionate were the tones in 
which this was delivered. The wondering hearer 
looked with pity upon the wretched being who could 
declare herself so dead to all that was good and 
noble in nature. But her close observation here aided 
her in a fitting reply. 

“ How strange it seems that people will sometimes 
misrepresent themselves. If your heart were the 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 1G3 

dead thing yon call it, you would be utterly incapable 
of one ennobling emotion.” 

“ x\nd am I not?” was the bitter response. “I 
feel as if I never can again on earth know a good 
thought, do a good deed. I don’t care !” 

‘‘Do you know you are not speaking truly?” asked 
Ora, steadily. 

“Why, how -dare you say that to me?” said the 
woman hastily and with growing excitement. 

“ Come, do not get angry. I mean no unkindness. 
I only want to prove to you how unjustly you abuse 
yourself,” Mrs. Meredith hastened to say gently, but 
still with firmness. “ In the first place, unwilling to 
break your word to your employers, you bring this 
work and ask me to finish it that they may not be 
diappointed. That betrays good feeling and a beau- 
tiful principle of truth and honesty. Then you assign 
as another reason, a duty to perform on which rests 
the happiness of some one. To perform that duty, 
you inconvenience yourself. In your desire to pre- 
serve the happiness of others — in your reluctance to 
overtask me because I look worn and ill — in all 
combined, you have here in a few moments shown 
me that you are truthful, generous, and kind. Tlie 
world may have embittered you with its cruelty and 
injustice, but God endowed you nobly in the begin- 
ning, and the seeds of His goodness are still in tbe 
heart you would have me believe dead to good 
emotions. Why will you do yourself and your 
Creator such wrong?” 

As Ora finished, her hearer stood gazing at her in 
undisguised astonishment. She liad never looked 


164 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


Upon the frail, delicate, seemingly dependent, help- 
less woman with a thought of such strength in her 
nature. Her firm, straightforward, yet gentle reproof 
stunned her for several moments into utter silence. 
Then she smiled faintly, and replied in a half musing 
tone : 

‘‘Some people seem to have the faculty of finding 
pearls buried in mud, where none would ever dream 
of the existence of a gem. I shall class you in the 
number of these rarities,” and without further words 
turned abruptly away, and descended the stairs. 

This strange conversation with the strange woman, 
made a deep impression upon Ora’s mind, and as 
she sat sewing, she thought of everytliing that had 
been said, and mused upon it. Time passed almost 
unheeded while thus engaged. She did not leave her 
work or think of leaving it, until gathering shadoAvs 
rendered her unable to see. Then she remembered 
that it was the hour for carrying the work homo, and 
momently expected the return of her neighbor. 

Hastily lighting her little lamp, she rather ner- 
vously took up the work again, eager to finish it 
before her return, and fearing her ability to do it. It 
Avanted a good half hour’s Avork before completing, 
and feeling weary now that her mind Avas recalled 
from its thought realms, she surveyed the article 
ruefully. But the desire to get through Avas strong, 
and nerving herself for the task, the needle ficAV in 
and out of the cloth like a little glancing ray of light. 
Ada had become tired of play, and begged for her 
supper ; but with a few Avords of encouragement, 
she put her off till the task was finished. A little 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


165 


story served to keep her quiet for a time, and at last 
the mother with a deep sigh of relief, rose and folded 
the finished garment and wrapped it up. She felt 
thankful for the strength which had sustained her to 
the completion, so that the woman might not be disap- 
pointed. But as time still sped and she did not come, 
a feeling of uneasiness began to take the place of 
gratification. She gave Ada her supper and then sat 
awhile to amuse her with little songs and stories, as 
was her custom. Ora loved her child beyond any 
earthly thing, and felt the necessity of perfect free- 
dom of intercourse between herself and her daughter, 
to establish that affection and confidence so lovely 
in such relations. It was her constant effort and care 
to lay her little daughter to rest with a happy heart. 
No cloud must settle over the pure young mind to mar 
it with hideous visions in sleep. A sweet, soothing 
song as a lullaby, or a pretty little story to amuse 
and please her, were the regular routine, togethir 
with the little prayer, after which the blue eyes closed 
peacefully, and the happy child was at rest. These 
hours were sometimes heavily taxing, but oftcner 
served to soothe and quiet her own overstrained 
nerves. The happiness she strove to spread as sun- 
light over the fair head of her innocent child, reflected 
into her own troublous life, a ray that brightened its 
darkness and kept hope and energy alive. On this 
evening it acted like a charm. After the little laslios 
had settled upon the soft cheek in sweet repose, Ora 
sat by her a long time in quiet, peaceful thought. 
The clock on Mrs. Jenkins’ mantel piece below stairs 
striking ten, at length aroused her. 


166 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


“ Ten ! and she has not come ! What cm have hap- 
pened to keep her?” she murmured. A fooling of 
alarm began to take entire possession of her. She 
was more interested in this strange being than she 
had ever realized until now, and she soon found her- 
self striving to devise a means of tracing her. A 
moment’s thought, however, convinced her of the 
futility of such an effort. She had not the most 
remote idea of the direction she had gone, and it was 
growing late at night. All thought of search was 

lolly. 

She remained waiting and listening for her foot- 
steps till after midnight, when the thought occurred 
to her that she might have come in while she was 
engaged with Ada, and it then being too late to 
carry the work to the store, which closed early, she 
had gone to her own room and retired. 

It seemed so probable, that Ora now endeavored 
to dismiss her fears and try to get some sleep. Fear 
of disturbing the household prevented her assuring 
herself fully by knocking at the door and ascertaining 
the truth; so she at length retired and soon fell 
asleep. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


“ Sister, there is a strange woman down stairs who 
says she must see you. Mollie says she looks wild, 
and told her to go away, but she wont do it till she 
sees you.” 

Kate burst into her sister’s room excitedly, and 
delivered this little piece of intelligence. Madeline 
rose from the work on which she was engaged, in 
wonder and curiousity. 

“A strange woman, Katie? what can she want 
with me? I’ll go and see, however. Some beggar, 
perhaps.” 

“ Ko, she dont look like a beggar,” asserted Kate, 
positively. “But she does look like a crazy woman. 
I feel afraid of her. Dont go down, Lina.” 

“ Konsense, my child, she could do me no possible 
harm, even were she what you imagine.” 

Kate followed Madeline from the room and stopped 
upon the landing where she could see the stranger, 
who sat upon the hall sofa waiting. She rose with 
an air of proud deprecation as the young girl ap- 
proached her, but the keen eyes swept her from head 
to foot at a glance. The slight expression of trouble 
and fear went out as the survey was complete;!, and a 
sorrowful pity took its place. Madeline fancied that 
she saw a mist obscure the strange orbs as she gazed 
in surprise upon her visitor’s face. 

( 167 ), 


168 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

‘‘You wished to see me?” she asked, kindly. 
“ What can I do for you ?” 

“ Nothing, lady, except to listen to what I have 
come tell you. Will you take me somewhere that I 
may speak to you freely without being heard by others ? 
Do not distrust me. The request is a strange one for 
a stranger to make, but I make it for your own sake. 
You would not wish others to hear what I have to say 
to you.” 

With increasing wonder, Madeline turned to the 
library and bade the woman follow her. On entering, 
she pointed her to a seat. 

“Sit down,” she said. “You look tired. Now, 
what have you to say to me? I am impatient to 
hear.” 

An unmistakable mist now gathered in the dark 
eyes, and the woman’s voice faltered painfully. 

“ Believe me. Miss Clifton, I would rather perform 
any task than that which brings me here ; but you are 
in peril, and I dared not hesitate to discharge the duty 
I owe you. It is doubly hard now that I have seen 
you. You look so young and trusting. Yes, it is 
very hard to tell you that which may, perhaps, change 
the whole current of your life, even as mine has been 
changed.” 

“You speak in riddles,” replied Madeline, with 
growing impatience. “ How can I be in peril — of 
what? Please come to the point at once.” 

“I will. Pardon me if I am over blunt. I would 
not seem impertinent. But you are engaged to be 
married to — to — Guy Bartoni ?” 

A spasm contracted the sallow features, as if severe 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 169 

pain accompanied the mention of the name. All the 
color forsook Madeline’s cheek on the instant, and she 
gazed speechlessly at her visitor, ere she could articu- 
late : 

Well, and if I am, what then 

Instead of replying, the woman covered her face 
with her hands, and her frame shook violently, either 
with pain or passion. A cold horror crept over the 
frame of the young girl as she looked upon the strange, 
plainly habited, cowering creature before her. Her 
evident poverty ; her shame and distress, told a pain- 
ful story. Madeline’s heart lay like lead in her bosom, 
and a cry like a wail burst from her lips : 

‘‘Do not, do not tell me, what I fear — do not say 
that he has wronged you!” 

The woman looked up q[uickly, and a hard, stern 
look replaced the pitiful anguish it had shown but a 
moment before. 

“But Ido say it! Aye! he has hitterly wronged 
me, and would add to the black sin with which his 
soul is stained, by wronging you likewise. Ah, I see 
by the horror in your face what you are thinking ; but 
you are mistaken ! I was, a few years ago, as fair as 
yon, and as pure — I believe as good as you can be. 
It is suffering which has changed me, not sin, as you 
think ! My only sin has been in the mere fact of ever 
having loved a man so black-hearted as Guy Bartoni ; 
and I do believe it must be sin, deep and deadly, to 
iove such as he ! But I must give you proof of what 
I say. This will explain all.” 

She took a folded paper from her bosom and handed 
it to Madeline, who received it with a shiver. A 
15 


170 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

terrible dread paralyzed her. She had scarcely power 
to unfold the little slip of writing she held. When 
she did, a numbness froze her blood till even her 
breath seemed stilled as she read. It was a certificate 
of marriage, duly signed, and bore the date of nearly 
two years back. 

Poor Madeline lifted her eyes piteously to the face 
of the stranger. 

“And you — ^you are — his — wife?” 

“ Yes, lady, I am his wife, or the law makes me so 
in the world’s eyes. But I had sworn never to call 
myself by the name again, and should not, but to save 
you. 1 could die when I think how I once loved him 
— false, perjured villain. that he is! Oh, he is not 
worth a thought, except of scorn 1” 

The thin figure was erect — the eyes blazing — the 
proud lips curled — the very personification of the 
scorn she expressed. Madeline caught a portion of 
the outraged spirit of the wife, and a tide of resentful 
feeling, smothered the pain that. threatened to madden 
her. Her 'voice grew stronger and steadier as she 
spoke : 

“ Tell me everything. I would understand the full 
extent of his deception.” 

The woman lifted her hands and pressed them tightly 
over her forehead for several seconds. Then she began 
slowly. 

“ I must be very brief. I can only tell you enough 
to satisfy you of my truth. I am a native of the 
South. It was there that I first met with Guy 
Bartoni. He was traveling for pleasure, and it was 
at the Springs I first saw him. The acquaintance 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


171 


was but temporaiy, yet he appeared pleased with my 
society, aud I regretted when the time came for us to 
part. I never heard from him after my return home 
to Louisiana, and had nearly forgotten him, when we 
met again unexpectedly. It was at St. Pauls, Min- 
nesota, and I was with a party about to cross the 
Plains to California. He, and a young man who pro- 
posed making the trip alone, gladly fell in with us, 
and we all started together. 

As we traveled, I saw a great deal of him. He 
was by my side constantly, and I learned to look for 
him eagerly from day to day, until at last I could not 
disguise the fact that I loved him. It amounted to 
an infatuation, and my woman’s instincts soon taught 
me that he was as deeply in love as I was myself. 
An accident united us. I had but one relative living 
besides my father — that was a sister who was in Cali- 
fornia, and to whom we were going. My mother 
died three years previous to our journey. One day 
my father ventured away from the party a little dis- 
tance, and in an unguarded moment, his horse took 
fright and stumbled with him, over a rocky ledge, 
killing him almost instantly, before any one could reach 
him to render aid. Oh, that was an awful hour for 
me! We buried him there where he was killed, aud 
left him amid the wild rocks in the wilderness. I 
thought I should die too, then. I felt that I could not 
leave him, my dear, good father, and go back into the 
world alone. In my wild despair and anguish, Guy 
Bartoni whispered his love, an 1 took me to his heart 
to comfort me. When a little farther oi^ our journey, 
we fell in with a another party, and among their uum- 


172 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


ber was a minister. It required little persuasion to 
induce me to wed him there, for my lonely, sorrowing 
heart deeply felt the need of a tender friend. So in 
a sweet, secluded spot in the wilderness, where we 
camped for the night, we were married by moonlight, 
the whole company standing beneath the stars in the 
hush of the night, with bared heads, listening to the 
solemn vows which bound us to each other. 

“ I shall never forget that night. Its solemnity was 
almost awful. Still it was beautiful, and I was as 
happy as I could be under such sad circumstances. 

“We all reached San Francisco together, and before 
doing so, the minister who married us gave me this 
certificate signed by himself and several others, as you 
see. 

“ I was not happy long, however, in my relation 
as a wife. He soon wearied of me, and my love scarcely 
outlived my husband’s. It had nothing to keep it 
alive. Three weeks after my marriage, the scales fell 
from my eyes, and the broad glare of a thousand imper- 
fections appalled me. He possessed none of those 
noble attributes which have power to bind a woman’s 
heart to man forever, and tor which I had given him 
credit when I gave him my heart. Unkind, unprinci- 
pled, cruel, I soon hated him with all my soul ; I could 
not help it. He repaid the sentiment with interest. We 
parted at length, he going his way, I mine. I held 
that certificate as a check upon his actions. I would 
not be divorced. I resolved that he should not wreck 
the life of another as he had mine, and have never 
ceased to watch him, though he has nearly eluded me 
several times. My means were limited. I have been 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


173 


obliged to labor harJ, sometimes, to sustain life, 
which, after all, is not worth sustaining. It might be 
different, if I chose. I could force him to support me, 
but I would scorn to take anything from a man I so 
thoroughly despise. I would rather starve.” 

It was impossible to doubt the truth of the story she 
heard, for every word burned itself into the soul of the 
listener, with indestructible force. Yet Madeline asked 
half mechanically: 

“And those witnesses — the minister — where are 
they now?” 

“ The minister lives in California. I do not know 
where the others are.” 

“Does Mr. Bartoni — does your — husband know 
you are here ?” 

“ Yes, 1 think he does. I have warned him to 
beware of his actions. Oh, I so feared I should not 
get to see you before the matter was carried to extrem- 
ity — before he had completed the terrible farce, and 
you were lost forever. I have agonized over the thought 
until I was almost helpless.” 

There was a gray pallor creeping over the thin 
features, and Madeline observing it, rang for a glass 
of wine lest she should faint. Young as she was, and 
selfish as youth is apt to be, she did not forget what 
the woman before her had suffered, or that she deserved 
all the pity that the heart can give. Deceived in her 
husband, deserted, left to toil and poverty, with the 
bitter consciousness of her wrongs in her soul, how 
much more need to think of her than of herself, even 
though her heart was aching over the death of its 
bright hopes ! With all the depth of her pure nature, 


174 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


she had loved him — looked npto liiiii in the full sweet 
confidence of her womanhood, and saw the fair image 
she had almost worshipped, crumble to worthless dust 
at her feet. Oh, what agony for woman, in her trust- 
ing nature, to endure ! There is no anguish so keen 
as that which rends the heart when it finds its idol 
unworthy its wild idolatry — when no charity or gene- 
rosity can avail to cover the hideousness of it^ defects ! 

But strong in her native goodness, Madeline Clifton 
resolutely stified the moans of her own heart to com- 
fort another whose sufferings, for having inflicted the 
blow, were almost as intense as hers in receiving it. 
Antoinette clasped the little hand stretched toward 
her, and as she pressed her white, trembling lips upon 
it, begged wistfully : 

“ Do not despise me, dear lady, that I have been 
instrumental in destroying your happiness. I know 
how hard it is for you to bear. God knows I have 
reason ! Oh ! it has embittered me until sometimes 1 
fancy myself inhuman ! But S 3 nnpathy softens us. I 
am a better woman than I was before I came to you, 
even tiiough it was to give you pain! Tell me, that 
when I am gone from you, you will not remember me 
unkindly for what I have made you sufier. It would 
have been more unkind in me to leave you in his 
hands unwarned of your danger 1” 

“ Indeed it would, and believe me, I thank you from 
my heart. You have saved me from a fate too terrible 
to contemplate. My God, how awful!” 

She had scarcely seemed to realize before the fulness 
of the danger from which she had escaped through the 
wretched woman who had risen to her feet and stood 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


175 


cowering before her. Now it burst upon her with 
overwhelming force — stunning, crushing her, and she 
fell upon her knees by the sofa, shrinking, quivering, 
shaken to the soul by the storm that swept over her. 

At this moment Dr. Clifton’s step was heard in the 
hall, and the daughter sprang wildly to her feet. In 
another moment he was in the doorway, and she had 
flung herself upon his bosom, sobbing frantically. 

“ Oh, papa, papa ! Oh, dear, dear papa, my heart 
will break!” was all that she could articulate. 

My child 1 Lina 1 daughter 1 what is the matter? 
what has happened ?” cried the Doctor, in alarm, look- 
ing down at the clinging, shaking figure in his arms, 
and then at the woman standing in the midst of the 
room, with clasped hands and convulsed features. He 
had never before seen his daughter so moved, and the 
thought that something terrible had occurred, half 
crazed him, as he continued to question her and re- 
ceived only sobs and broken ejaculations in reply. 
Then he appealed to the stranger sternly : 

“Woman, have you had anything to do with this? 
Is it your work ? Tell me instantly if you know any- 
thing about it ?” 

For reply, she stepped forward and placed the paper 
in his hand. A single glance showed him what it 
was, and the expression that swept over his face, for 
one moment, w^ awful to behold. Lina felt his arm 
close like a vice around her person, while Guy Bar- 
toni’s wife saw the color rise in a crimson torrent to 
his forehead, and his lips grow purple with rage. His 
voice was thick and husky as his fiery glance rested 
upon her. 


176 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


‘‘And you can prove the truth of this?” he asked. 

“Yes, I can. Oh, sir, I came not here to pain, but 
to save her.” 

He set his teeth hard, and fairly hissed the words 
that followed her deprecating appeal. 

“ By the living God, he shall rue the day he was 
horn — I swear it !” 

Lina’s sobs were stilled with fearful rapidity, and 
she looked up in terror upon her father’s altered face. 
In all her life she had not seen such an expression upon 
it as it now wore, or heard such fearful words from his 
lips. She was now as white as marble with the deadly 
fear that seized her. 

“ Papa, papa ! you look terrible 1” she cried in dis- 
may. “ Oh, what would you do?” 

“ Never mind, child. Time will show.” 

His calmness was more terrifying than his anger. 
He took a step toward the door, but Madeline clung to 
him tightly. 

“ Papa, dear papa, I will not let you go now. You 
would do something frightful, I know, and then I 
should die. Do be calm, dear father I Wait, think.” 

Her tones were full of passionate entreaty, and the 
outraged father wheeled upon her almost savagely. 

“Madeline, what do you fear? That I will find 
that man, and rid him of the life that is a curse to his 
kind I Can it be that you can still ^el a regard for a 
man whose object was to destroy you ? Look at that 
woman there ! She is, doubtless, his lawful wife, and 
he would reduce you to a more miserable condition 
than hers, for you cannot be lawfully his ! And yet 
you plead for him.” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


177 


“ You mistake me, sir,” replied the girl, proudly. 
“I do not plead for him, but for yourself. You are 
an old man, father, and no match for a strong, desperate 
being like Guy Bartoni. Should you meet him in 
your blind wrath, there is no telling what may happen; 
and if harm should come to you through him — oh, it 
would kill me! Think of m}^ little sisters — pity my 
anguish, father — for surely the pain of such deception is 
bitter enough for one weak woman to bear 1 Besides^ 
think of the scandal to which such an affair would 
give rise 1 Your daughter’s name will fill every 
mouth — an object of pity to some — food for idle gos- 
sip for others ! Oh ! I could not bear this I” 

The Doctor stood irresolute, but white and cold, 
until the end of the appeal. The thought of being 
overmastered by any man, curled his lip with contempt 
when she warned him ; but it faded away when she 
painted the closing picture. That was too revolting 
to contemplate. His child a by- word for the rabble ! 
God forbid 1 The thought calmed him to reason. 

“ You may be right,” he answered doubtfully, “ but 
do not suppose that I shall let this matter pass. He 
shall pay dearly for his villainy ! If I am an old man, 
I am a father too — an outraged father, on whose best 
and holiest feelings he has trampled remorselessly, 
and it shall not pass unpunished. He shall pay 
dearly for his rashness.” 

Madeline’s form was rocking slowly to and fro as 
the angry tirade was ended, and the poor old man 
had but time to catch the sinking figure in his arms 
as it fell to the floor. Then he carried her to a sofa 
and with loving anxiety tried to restore her to con- 


178 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


sciousness, mingling with his endearments and self- 
accusations, bitter denunciations against the cause of 
this suffering. 

He did not call for assistance. He could not bear 
that others should look upon their misery. He chafed 
the little hands and bathed the white face with water 
he found upon a stand, even forgetful of the woman 
who had been the unwilling instrument of their suffer- 
ings. And, taking advantage of the opportunity pre- 
sented by his forgetfulness, Antoinette Bartoni stole 
softly from the room and out into the street, now lighted 
by myriads of lamps which put to flight the darkness 
that had spread over the city. 

She was weak and faint. A trembling numbness 
slowly crept through her veins as she turned her steps 
homeward. Several times she was compelled to stop 
and lean against a lamp post for support, or to sit 
down upon the white marble steps of some splendid 
mansion, until she could gather a little strength to 
move onward. 

She had risen that morning with a nausea which 
caused her to loathe food, and through the whole day 
not one mouthful had passed her lips. Anxiety of 
mind, followed by the intense excitement of the past 
two hours, added to the fact of her abstinence from 
food, were sufficient to shatter stronger nerves than 
hers, but she had scarcely given it a thought until this 
moment, when her trembling limbs refused to bear her 
weight. How she reproached herself for carelessness. 
She felt almost as if she should die ! It would not 
matter, were she within her own room, sheltered by 
the miserable walls, which, however miserable they 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


179 


might be, still served to screen her from the cold 
world and its pitiless curiosity. She could not bear to 
die in the street like a pauper — that would be terrible. 
In her utmost poverty, she had never lost her pride 
and self dependence, but had struggled bravely for- 
ward through difficulties, even as she had striven to 
move onward, now, despite her weakness and increas- 
ing numbness. 

Presently the lamps seemed to grow numberless, 
and the stately houses on each side of the street en- 
larged to twice their size and moved like a huge 
panorama before her. There were forms passing her 
that looked like giants, and two, larger than the rest, 
came meeting her with locked arms. She tried to 
collect her strength to stand out of their pathway, but 
in the effort, reeled and fell upon the pavement, losing 
all consciousness with the fall. 

It was a compassionate face that bent over the pros- 
trate form, full of manly pity and sympathy ; but the 
mocking laugh from his companion faded the divine 
light from it, as a breath of poisonous vapor would 
steal the rich hue from a beautiful flower. Charles 
Lafarge felt almost ashamed of the momentary feeling 
of humanity that had stirred his heart, when his 
heartless companion mocked him thus. Yet he lifted 
the head from which the little hood had fallen, and 
discovered the pale, still face beneath the mass of 
dark hair falling over the shoulders. A cry of sur- 
prise broke from him. 

“ My God, Guy ! It is Antoinette !” 

“ The deuce it is !” 

All apathy was gone now, and a fierce gleam lighted 


180 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


the dark ej^es as' he too stooped to look at the face, as 
if to convince himself of the truth. 

“ You are right, by Jove !” he exclaimed. “ What 
the devil brought her here ? Ah, can she have been 
at the mischief I feared already? This looks bad! 
Eun, Charlie, and get a hack at once. I will stay 
here 1 ISTow is our time to get her avvay. She may 
not have done the mischief yet, but if she has — ” 

The sentence was left unfinished, but the demoniac 
expression of face was more fearful than words could 
have been. Charles Lafarge half hesitated and shiv- 
ered, but a second thought caused him to do as he was 
bidden, and he disappeared. 

A little crowd was soon gathered about the spot, 
and eager questions were showered at the darkly 
watchful guardian, standing sentinel over the still 
insensible form. He answered with curt, stern 
brevity : 

Away, all of you 1 What is it to you, who and 
what she is, or what is the matter with her?” She is 
in mj/care, and that is enough. Off, and leave me in 
peace.” 

One by one they dispersed, and others following, 
were dismissed in a like manner. Speculation was 
rife in the bosom of each. It was curious and inter- 
esting to see a handsome, elegantly dressed gentleman 
standing over the form of a poor, poverty stricken 
creature like that, and claiming her as his charge. 
Perhaps he had a right, and his pride, stung and 
wounded, sharpened his tongue to strangers who wit- 
nessed his humiliation. An unfortunate sister, or 
relative, perhaps ! Who could tell? 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


181 


Aye ! who could tell ? How little would auy one 
dream of the relation existing between that proud, 
stern man, and the poor, prostrate woman I Who 
would dream that it was his wife he thus stood over, 
eager, tierce, watchful, like a hungry tiger watching 
its prey? 

In a short time he was relieved, as Charlie sprang 
from a cab that drove rapidly to the spot, and assisted 
him to lift her within. Then the two entered the 
vehicle, and bidding the driver move on, fastened the 
door upon their unconscious victim — now fully in their 
power. 

Away I past those elegant structures — through 
teeming, rattling Broadway, and on, up one street, 
down another, then up another, till it would have 
been almost impossible to follow in the mad, intricate 
drive, out into the darkness and obscurity of the city, 
beyond its limit of culture, and warmth and beauty. 
Here all was rank, loathsome, foetid and poisonous, 
wherein swarmed hundreds of human beings like 
vermin, terrible in their want and poverty. But it 
was not here that the journey was to end ! Sdll on, 
over stones, through mud — over a dull, ugly road, 
until the dark outlines of a gloomy structure was 
faintly traceable against the sky ; surrounded by trees, 
and seeming to frown gloweringly over all who should 
come beneath its shadow^ 

Here the carriage stopped, and the driver dismount- 
ing from his box opened the door and the two men 
emerged from it — one looking up regretfully at the 
grim walls— the other heaving a sigh of relief, while 
an ejaculation escaped him. 


182 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


“At last!” he said. “What an age it has taken 
you to drive this distance,” he growled at the driver. 

“ Sure sir, an’ I came fast as the horses could carry 
us at all, at all. They ran just as if, fur all the world, 
the divil hisself wur afther thim. Divil the niinit did 
they iver slacken their pace to brathe ; but fur all that, 
yer honor’s not satisfied with all poor Pat or the bastes 
could do.” 

“Shut up, you blunderhead I” commanded Guy in 
a fierce undertone. “ Who asked you for all this 
tirade ? Go and ring that bell there by the little door 
in the wing. Ping twice — once quickly — then wait 
while you count six and ring again.” 

The man took ofi* his hat and thrust his thick fingers 
through the mass of matted sandy hair over his fiat 
forehead, but obeyed the order as well as he could, 
stooping down to make his way under a mass of vines 
that hung over a frame near the little gate. When he 
had succeeded in reaching the door, he got hold of 
the bell handle and gave it a sharp pull. He then 
waited to count sixteen, very deliberately, before he 
pulled it again, muttering under his breath : 

“ Sure, an’ I’ll count six wid a vengeance— the dirthy 
spalpeen 1 to talk to a poor divil in that way afther 
the divil’s drive I give him. Halloa! are ye cornin’, 
thar !” 

The last exclamation was drawn from him in a 
deeper undertone, as a step sounded within. The next 
moment, a bolt was drawn, a key turned, and the 
door being slightly opened, a grufi* voice demanded 
what was wanted. 

The Irishman was saved the trouble of replying, by 


OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 183 

Bartoni himself, who stepped u])on the stoop at this 
moment, and roughly thrusting the man aside, whis- 
pered a few words in the ear of the doorkeeper. 

Without another word, the fellow opened the portal 
wider, and as Guy went in, he bade the man go out- 
side and wait for him. 

Ten minutes later, while Charles Lafarge was pacing 
the little space between the gate and the carriage, 
Guy came out, followed by three men. Thrusting his 
arm in Charlies’, Bartoni drew him to the other side 
of the carriage, and the men opening the door, took 
out the still helpless woman, who had lain all this 
time upon the cushions. 

“ She might recognize us,” whispered Guy. “ They 
have their orders, and know what to do with her. 
Listen !” 

A faint, pitiful cry escaped Antoinette’s lips as the 
two men lifted and carried her through the little gate. 
The third man waited until they entered the door and 
Guy came round to where he stood. Then nodding 
his head with the simple word ‘‘To-morrow!” he 
disappeared within the building, and the two men 
re-entering the conveyance, the driver turned his 
horses’ heads once more towards the city. 

Perched upon his box, the man ruminated upon the 
object of the strange proceedings he had witnessed. 
He was not bright or shrewd, but his memory served 
him to link these events into a suspicious chain against 
the men inside his coach. First, Charles Lafarge’s 
excited manner as he called him, and gave liim the 
direction he was to drive — (information which had 
been received that very evening during a conversation 


184 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


upon what was to be done in case the woman they 
sought should be found), followed by the entrance of 
the stranger — the long drive, the mysterious house and 
its mysterious inmates, as well as the gentleman’s 
surly humor, spoke of anything but^ just or pleasant 
transaction. Patrick O’J^eal carefully stamped each 
and everything he had seen and heard, upon his 
memory, by a process of his own fashion, and mentally 
resolved to look out for a key to the enigma, if only 
to spite the ‘‘ spalpeen for bein’ so hard on a poor divil 
as did the best he could for him.” It will be seen that 
Patrick was sensitive and not over forgiving in his 
nature. 

Guy and Charles Lafarge got out of the cab on 
Broadway, near Maiden Lane, and paying the man 
liberally for his time, turned away and were soon lost 
in the distance. 

For several moments after they had gone, Patrick 
remained standing where they had left him, clutching 
the golden coin he held, tightly, and evidently think- 
ing with all his might. A vague idea of something 
he ought to do seemed struggling in his mind for 
development, but ideas had to labor hard within his 
thick skull, ere they could result in any tangible pur- 
pose, and now, after deliberating for some time to no 
account, he slowly mounted to his perch, and taking 
up the reins, drove away, still perplexed and uncertain. 

As for Bartoni and his comrade in villainy, after 
leaving Maiden Lane, they went up Broadway some 
distance before either ventured to speak. Guy’s mind 
was clouded with fears. He would have given any- 
thing he possessed to know where Antoinette had 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 185 

been, ere falling in that swoon in the street. Yet 
what else could bring her to that portion of the city, 
save the wish to do him harm. He had every reason 
to suppose that she had heard him speak Madeline 
Clifton’s name the day she thrust the little card into 
his hand, bearing the lines which warned him of her 
presence. It would bo no hard matter to find out her 
residence, knowing her name, and his prophetic fears 
told him that she had betrayed him to his betrothed. 
In that case, he was thwarted in everything but his 
vengeance on her. That would be proportionate to 
the injury she had done him 1 
Poor Antoinette ! 


CHAPTER XIX. 

What changes come to us in a brief space of time ! 
A day may serve to strip us of all we hold dearest on 
earth, an hour to crush all the fairest hopes of life, 
leaving us heart sick and desolate. 

Poor Madeline Clifton wept away the first bitterness 
of her grief in the loneliness and silence of her own 
chamber. Hers was too true and loving a nature not 
to feel deeply a woe like this. She would have staked 
her life on her lover’s truth and goodness, yet how 
bitterly had she been deceived. But for the incontro- 
vertible proof she had received, she must have trusted 
and loved him still. But that little strip of paper in 
the hands of the miserable woman who called herself 
his wife, had swept away her faith in him forever; 

10 


186 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE, 


and with her trust, her love must die. That love had 
received a terrible blow, and with a fearful cry of 
agony recoiled, struggled, wailed and died forever ! 
Nothing but the dead chill ashes were left on the 
young heart’s altar, and pride, rising with slow but 
gathering firmness and power, began to sweep them 
away with a sure and steady hand. 

For herself the bitterest trial was over. For others 
the pure heart bled still. When she gathered her 
strength, and with a patient sweetness almost angelic, 
came down to breakfast as usual, the morning after 
the awful revelation which had blighted her life, it 
was for the sake of others, that they might not feel 
too deeply the blow, b}" witnessing its effect upon her. 

The Doctor’s usually kind face was stern and hard. 
He could not forget. The lessons he had impressed 
upon the minds of liis children, and which his daugh- 
ter was practising now — “that self control gives 
strength to combat all evil,” seemed entirely to have 
faded from his own mind. Through the whole night 
sleep had not visited him, and the cauldron of his 
wrath boiled hotly, leaving the sad impress upon face 
and manner. 

Madeline cast her eyes around the circle with a sick- 
ening sensation at heart. Agnes Montes was no 
longer like herself. The time that had elapsed since 
Mrs. Meredith’s disappearance, had metamorphosed 
her. She seldom spoke, and when she did, her tones 
had the bitter acrimony of an adult whoso whole life 
had been a series of disappointments, till nature 
became misanthropic. The darkly beautiful face had 
grown thin and sharp in its outlines, while the black 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 187 

eyes, burning with an ever fitful light, looked almost 
ghostly in their size and expression. 

Kate’s joyous laugh, and Mary’s innocent prattle 
were hushed, and with pained expressions upon their 
fair young faces, their glances wandered silently to 
each member of the family, returning again to their 
plates, misty with tears. 

But it was when she looked upon the brother, of 
whom she had been so justly proud, that the gentle 
heart received the keenest stab, and the brown eyes 
grew humid. The bleared orbs, pale haggard cheeks, 
sternly compressed lips, and general untidy appear- 
ance, told a tale too pitiful for even love to mistake ! 
To what misery had that happy circle been reduced, 
and for what purpose? The soft eyes drooped, and 
the aching heart sent up a prayer unspoken by the 
pale lips: 

“God, hast Thou a purpose in this ? Oh, be mer- 
ciful !” 

Harry was first to break the silence that reigned. 
His tones were fretful and complaining. 

“ I should like to know what’s come over everybody 
in this house ! I have not heard a pleasant word, or 
seen a smile, and I begin to doubt the evidences of 
my own senses sometimes, and fancy some malicious 
sprite or fiend has transported me to unknown scenes 
and new associations. This is no longer my pleasant, 
happy home, but a funeral shade where every indica- 
tion of joyous life must be suppressed. What is the 
matter with you all ?” 

“You will know soon enough,” was the grave, 
half severe response from the father. “ Meantime, be 


188 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


SC gooa as to keep complaints to yourself, for at this 
moment they are particularly unwelcome.” 

■ Harry’s brow flushed angrily, but he made no 
reply. Universally tender and kind as his father ever 
had been, he was aware that it would be rather a dan- 
gerous experience to break through one of his most 
rigid rules, which was that no unpleasant circumstances 
should ever be discussed in the presence of the younger 
members of his family. 

“Of what use,” would he argue, “is it, to taint the 
young minds of little children, and darken their lives 
with evils in which they have no part ? Life brings 
all these things soon enough, and experience is the 
best, though a very painful teacher. Keep their hearts 
disposed to charitable impulses while you can, and to 
do this, you must make it beautiful. It is cruel to 
turn the dark side of a picture for child eyes to look 
upon, when there is a bright one to be seen.” 

And, in my humble judgment, were these rea- 
sonings more prevalent in the minds of parents, 
children would grow up with purer hearts and minds, 
capable of greater love and charity for a world, which 
we make hard and cold by the people we train to live 
in it. 

When the meal was ended, the Doctor rose and re- 
quested his son to follow him to the library. Poor 
Madeline trembled in anticipation of the story that 
would there meet his ear. What would he do? He 
had been called away in his father’s place, the day 
])revious, to visit some patients at some distance, and 
had not returned until late in the night. He was 
therefore ignorant of all that had passed, and was yet 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 189 

to learn the shame of the black deceit practised upon 
his beloved sister. 

With a fervent prayer in her heart that God would 
guide them all aright, the noble girl took up the duties 
of the day bravely and patiently. 

Calling the little girls together, she spoke to them 
with forced, but loving cheerfulness in her tones. 

‘‘ Dont look so sad, my darlings. There is no need. 
I see your dear faces clouded because ours have been ; 
but it has passed, I hope, and the little trouble that 
worried us will soon be over. I want you to forget it 
and be yourselves again. Katie, you may finish that 
drawing for my bedroom to-day, dear, and Mary can 
work on my card basket. Put your fairest colors in 
it, pet, and make it bright and pretty. And you, 
Aggie, what will you do for sister?” 

Tiie child stole to her side closely and slipped a little 
burning hand in Madeline’s soft palm. 

‘‘Love you,” she answered plaintively. “It is all 
I can do, I’m afraid. I am sick and tired.” 

Another sharp pang wrung the gentle heart. What 
next was coming ? What power was at work hero 
to soften this child’s cold and bitter tones and 
haughty manner to one of tenderness and love. Was 
it the precursor of coming evil? So unlike her 
of late, and now with these burning hands and 
weary tones ! Terror and pain struck coldly to her 
heart. 

“Sick and tired, my love! What makes you so! 
How are you sick ?” 

Agnes smiled a little, but after a moment replied : 

“ i dont know. I have felt so tired for a long time, 


190 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


and I want something — I dout know what — till I feel 
sick. Oh! dear!” 

‘‘ Come, are only melancholy because we have 
been troubled. Is not that it ? You will feel better soon 
again. Kow I want you to do something to day, and 
you say you love me, so I know you will do it. What 
shall it be? Oh, I have it now! 1 promised little 
Ellen Parker a doll, if she would not worry her 
mamma while she was ill ; and as she was very good 
and quiet, she must have it. How would you like to 
go out and buy one for her, darling? Kate and Mary 
can go too, and when you come back, you shall dress 
her with some pretty pink silk I will give you for the 
purpose, and little Ellen can be made so happy. Dont 
you think you would like it ?” 

“ I suppose so,” was the reply, but the tones were 
very dreary. Evidently the little girl had no heart 
for the proposed employment. 

Still, knowing action to be the best remedy for 
sadness, Madeline resolved to engage the children'as 
pleasantly as possible, to make them forget unpleasant 
things, and as Kate and Mary seemed eager for going 
out, she went up stairs to see them prepared for the 
street, and soon sent them away, feeling relieved to 
have done this much. The many sights upon the 
sidewalk would prove to them a happy diversion, and 
something of that nature was very desirable while her 
home thus rested under a cloud. 

Her first impulse after seeing the little girls ofi’, was 
to hasten to the library to her father and brother, but 
when she arrived at the door she found both had gone 
out. Sick with dread she went up to her own room 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 191 

and fell upon her knees. There the great sorrows of 
her young life found vent in prayers and tears, wrest- 
ling with God as His children only wrestle with Him 
when in agony of spirit. Believing His promises, 
claiming His love, we who follow the divine teachings 
of the Savior, will not give up the struggle, but cling 
to those promises for relief and aid until our agony is 
soothed with the whisperings of the recording Angel 
who proclaims our sins erased from the Book of Life. 

But notwithstanding the firm reliance placed in 
protecting power, Madeline was only human, and 
weak to struggle thus unaided with her destiny. 
Father, brother, all seemed absorbed, and there was 
no arm on which to lean, except God’s, in her sore 
distress. She was strangely placed for one so young. 
There were very heavy burdens of responsibility upon 
her young shoulders, and now in her misery, when 
she needed a sympathizing friend on whom she might 
lean and seek comfort, she was compelled to fall 
back upon her own strength, and fight the battle for 
victory alone. 

Oh, could she have had, but for one hour, a mother’s 
bosom on wdiich to lay her weary head and weep, the 
heavy load would grow less oppressive ! Were even 
her father or brother to take her tenderly in their arms 
and speak loving encouragement in her ears, she 
would feel new impulses for life stirring within her 
bosom ! But they had left her to herself, and gone 
without a wmrd — and for what? A dozen times the 
question returned to her mind, whence she strove to 
banish it ! — Had they gone to look for Guy ? If so, 
what would happen? She dared not think of it. She 


192 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

had her father’s promise not to get into a quarrel with 
him, but Plarry ! He was young, strong and full of 
passionate life ! There was no guaranty for his 
silence ! She could scarcely wish it, for with all her 
gentleness, Madeline was proud, and felt the insult 
deeply that Guy Bartoni had put upon her. Yet her 
love for her dear ones was strong, in her woman’s 
heart, and she shrank from a contest with danger lest 
they should suffer. 

At the sound of her father’s step below, Madeline 
hastened down stairs, but he had gone out again and 
entered his carriage, and blaming herself for her 
foolish fears, she turned back to her room. 

I am afraid that some of the young housekeeper’s 
duties were unattended , however, that day. By strong 
efforts she succeeded in busying the girls with their 
various employments, and it was with a real flash of 
pleasure that she saw Aggie’s wan face lighted with 
wakened interest, as her little fingers fashioned the 
robe the devoted sister cut and fitted for the doll she 
had bought. But after that, she wandered restlessly 
from room to room, striving vainly to engage herself 
in something to make her forget the haunting memo- 
ries that arose to agitate and unstring her nerves. 

Once she went into Harry’s room. It was in sad 
disorder, and she sighed heavily as she glanced around 
the pretty chamber, and noted evidences of Ids grow- 
ing carelessnes, which the chambermaid’s duties 
scarcely served to remove. 

His books and papers he allowed no one to touch, 
but himself, and these were scattered profusely over 
table and desk. 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


193 


A little brouze liaiid resting upon a loose sheet of 
paper, attracted her attention. Slie observed that 
iiasty lines were scrawled upon it, but in a half absent 
manner took it up, glancing down the page wearily. 
Suddeiily her eyes fixed upon words that sent the hot 
blood coursing in a wild wave to her heart. What 
could it mean ! Again she lifted her. eyes and re-read 
the wliole over, and with a low cry, she sank upon the 
carpet, covering her face with her hands. * 

“This, too! this too! Oh, God, the cup is bitter! 
I am but human, and too helpless to drink it. Let it 
pass from me.” 

Tliese were the burning words that were traced upon 
the paper that fell from her grasp and fluttered to her 
feet : 

“ What is life to me now ? It might have been very 
bright and beautiful, but I myself helped, to destroy 
every hope I reared in the freshness of 1113^ 3’onth. I 
have driven the woman I loved from my father’s 
lioiise, as though she were the guilty thing I can never 
believe her to be. Why did I tell her of my love, and 
that, too, in the hour I had brought her face to face 
with the man whom I feel to have belied her % My 
God ! I shall go mad ! A wanderer ! Perhaps an 
outcast from vei^ want ; and it is I who have driven 
Jier hence I 'Why did I not keep q^uiet and clear her 
fame, as the man should do who loves a woman truly 1 
Oil, mad, blind fool that I have been. Too late, too 
late! She would hate me now, even had shebeen 
disposed to do otherwise before. I hate m^'self ! It 
matters little what becomes of me. The sooner this 
miserable, hateful, and useless life is ended, the better 

17 


194 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


for me and all that love me. lam beside myself, and 
reckless. Shame and sorrow must come of it. I 
would that I were dead 1” 

And this was the solution of the enigma which had 
puzzled her for so long ? Oh, where was her woman’s 
wit that she had not before seen it? This had paled 
the ruddy cheek and dimmed the bright dark eye I 
This had driven him from his pure, manly habits, 
and brought him into evil associations. This had 
stained his once spotless!}" pure name, and made him, 
she knew but too well, the frequenter of places where, 
in early youth, his foot had never trodden ! 

What could she do to save him? He must be 
saved 1 She could not bear to see her handsome, 
proud, and manly brother sink from his height, and 
fall to the lowest depths of reckless miser}". That 
morning she had observed, for the first time, how 
rapidly he was falling, and from a fate so cruelly dark 
and terrible, she seemed powerless to rescue him. 
Further and further, each step she took forward, 
plunged her into utter misery. If life had become 
thus wearisome, here was a double inducement to call 
out Guy and stand a chance of getting rid of it. To 
her excited fancy, he seemed even now seeking to 
madly cast that life aside, in his blind recklessness I 
Then came in a thought of Ora ! Ah ! poor Ora I 
She could see it all now ! What had she not suffered 1 
This was what had driven her hence, and not a sense 
of guilt. It was her brother’s wild infatuation ! Guy 
Bartoni’s falsehood ! Slowly the just mind of tlie 
girl labored through the mists and clouds of difficulty., 
and rested upon the truth. Did she believe his story 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


195 


now? No. With her luve all hiith in his truth 
vanisliod. Perhaps Ora know of his guilt and he 
feared her; and thus, by blasting her fame, sought to 
free himself by turning her from his path. Yet if 
this were so, wliy did she not defend herself by 
exposing him? The question rose painfully ; but the 
answer was found in a remembrance of her delicate 
position and extremely sensitive nature. 

Now that Bartoni’s villainy had become apparent, 
and Harry’s wild confession as written on that sheet 
of paper had revealed to her the true state of affairs, 
her quick mind and generous heart worked liidi after 
link into an evidence combatting the long array against 
her, overwhelming it, and at last Ora Meredith was 
justified. 

But where was she now? Poor, wronged, heart- 
broken woman! Madeline sobbed and wrung her 
hands in passionate sorrow, thinking of her, and how 
she had wronged her in every thought before this little 
piece of paper cleared her from the guilt and shame 
of deception. 

Now she knelt humbly and prayed for her restora- 
tion to them, that they might make some recompense 
for the many wrongs, cruel and bitter, they had 
unwittingly heaped upon her. ^ 


L 


CHAPTER XX. 




Oea Meredith — turn we once more to lier. A few 
short days had brought many and distressing changes. 
Since the disappearance of the stranger in whom she 
had found a kind friend and assistant, she felt as if 
her last earthly stay and prop was removed, and she 
must stand alone, reliant only upon herself. A heavy, 
heavy heart she carried within her breast, as the days 
waned, and her strength failed her. Through the 
interested kindness of Mrs. Jenkins she had succeeded 
in obtaining some plain work, but illness and trouble 
combined, kept eyes blinded and fingers unsteady, 
until her employer grew impatient over the delay of 
the articles that were to have been returned at a 
certain time, and when it was carried home, she 
received the brusque assurance that it was the last she 
could have, only ‘‘to keep and spoil,” and then Mrs. 
Jenkins, seeing no fair prospect in the future, after 
siezing everything available, turned the wretched 
lodger forcibly into the street. Stinging and insulting 
words followed her from the coarse, vile tongue of 
the woman, and catching her child to her bosom, weary 
and miserable, she wandered away amid the fury of a 
thunder storm that was raging without. Both were 
soon drenched to the skin. Both weary and faint 
from fasting. Life now promised little but utter 
misery in the future. Toil, pain — poverty in its 
( 196 ) 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


197 


bitterest form to battle with, and its attendant evils of 
scorn, misconstruction, unfeeling rudeness and want 
of kindness. How could she hope for anything better, 
when she had struggled vainly for so long against it ? 
What had she done, that life should be turned thus to 
gall and bitterness in the bloom of her youth and 
freshness ? Ah 1 the heart sickened and shuddered 
under its heavy load of almost insupportable woe ! 
The little child in her arms, thin and pale, and pinched 
with want — absolute want, must now lie there, per- 
haps, and die of starvation. The dreary, hopeless 
future lay before her. Had she work, her strength 
was too far spent to accomplish it without first, rest 
and kind care to restore her. Where could these be 
found ? Ho where on earth that she knew. There 
seemed nothing left her but to die. 

To die ! Ah, what thoughts rose wdth the word. 
Death was rest — peace and rest eternal. Unkindness 
could not penetrate the grave, nor scorn stir the heart 
to tumult from its calm repose. Cold and want could 
not reach beneath the sheltering folds of the wdiite 
winding sheet, and there seemed a blessed sweetness 
in the thought of having the weary limbs hidden away 
where they might lie at rest and feel no more the 
aching and pain of toilsome days and nights. Oh, 
could she and Ada lie down and feel the cold, firm 
fingers of the Angel of Eest surely calming tlie hot 
pulses of life, how gladly would she welcome its 
coining. She was longing inexpressibly for it. Too 
much of experience, bitter and fearful, had been 
crowded into her short life. She sickened at the taste 
of the cruel draught. Must she drink it for years and 


198 


OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 


years to come ? IIow interminable tlie future seemed. 
And how maliciously Misery paraded a grim pano- 
rama before her mental vision ! 

She saw herself dragging wearily through the years, 
her child growing up amid coarse and uncongenial 
associations. Her fair, loving child, with her danger- 
ous dower of almost immortal beauty, and her sensi- 
tive nature — both evils from which even the rich find 
it hard to shield the possessor from their attending 
dangers and pain. What, then, would it be for her? 
Could she guard and shield her child in her poverty ? 
More than this, she saw Want stalk grimly by, and 
leave the print of his cruel fingers on the white face 
of that little child. Half of her life might be passed 
under the shadow of his gaunt form, and then at last 
she might see that grim spectre bear her away, and 
she powerless to stay the theft. “Oh, God! Oh, 
God 1 Take us from the evil to come 1” 

Slowly her steps were wandering toward the river. 
She did not know it until she stood near the pier, and 
saw the vessels looming up in the gathering gloom. 
Then there was a half-inviting music in its dash and 
murmur, as the boats cut through the waves, and the 
driving rain fell upon it. She could fancy herself 
quietly at rest beneath, with the bright head folded 
forever upon her bosom, in an embrace death could 
render eternal. 

Her heart was aching — her brain burning. An 
eternal relief was in those dark, dashing waters. 
Why might she not take it and be free — she and her 
poor, sufiering babe? She longed for it, she yearned 
for it beyond anything on earth, now. She must 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 199 

accept it. But one moment of darkness — perhaps a 
struggle — a little struggle — in which the arms of 
mother and child would clasp each other, and then all 
would be over. 

There was bliss in the thought. Instinctively she 
caught Ada to her heart and took several steps forward, 
standing upon the very edge of the pier. Sorrow had 
demented her for a moment — want and cruelty driven 
her mad. She was not responsible for the influence 
evil thoughts gained over her in that hour, and made 
death seem so blissfully inviting. It was rest, peace, 
love — everything to her, and she sought it wildly — 
eagerly. 

There was a murmured prayer upon her lips, and 
an eager, longing look of love in the blue eyes taking 
a last view of the child upon her bosom ; and then she 
bent iier head and closed her eyes in anticipation of 
the desperate leap. She gathered her energies to spring 
beyond reach into the cool dark waves, but a hand fell 
roughly upon her shoulder, and a hard, harsh, yet not 
unkind voice, dispelled the madness that wrapped her 
brain in its subtle delirium. 

Sure, an’ is it agoin’ to jump into the wather, yer 
afther doin’, woman ? If I hadn’t got ye this blissed 
rain it, ye’d a ben gone, sure as Pathrick O’Berne’s 
pig got into O’Flarty’s garden and eat up the praties ! 
What’s the matter wid ye ! Come, tell me now, like 
a dacent girl, an’ its meself that’ll help ye if its in 
me power to do anything at all, at all. What’s the 
matter ?” 

Ora sank down with a moan. 

** Ho home — not even a shelter in this storm — no 


200 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


bread — nothing on earth but death. Oh, why wrest 
me from that. Go away, and let me die 

“Die! well sure, an’ I shan’t do it, if its all the 
same till ye’s,” was the decided response. What if 
ye’s have no home, nor bread, nor anything. Fortune 
is mighty cross sometimes, an’ sorrow comes to 
everybody. Betsey Miles has got a little house that’ll 
do for shelter in the rain, an’ a few praties in the 
corner. Ye’s shall share ’em till ye’s can get some 
for yerself. Come home wid me.” 

A light stole in upon the mind of the sufferer. God 
created all life for a purpose. He had yet use for 
hers, and would not permit her to destroy it. He 
had sent His instrument to save her. There was 
no escape, she must submit. The rebellion that was 
gathering in her heart, melted under the influence of 
tlie better thoughts that rose. If God preserved life 
thus for His purposes. He would provide something for 
its comfort. Shelter and food already w^as ofiered as 
an earnest. She rose humbly and followed the uncouth 
Irishwoman who st<:x)d to her in the light of a savior; 
and there was repentenee and shame mingled with the 
prayer for strength and mercy she feebly uttered. 

‘‘ Father, Thou seest my weakness, and Thou alone 
art the source of strength. Seeing me but human, 
with humanity’s bitterest sufferings, Thou canst for- 
give. Oh 1 remember me in mercy.” 

Ere long she became conscious of having entered 
a small room with a fireplace, where a little bright 
fire was kindled, throwing out cheerful rays of light. 
It looked inviting and homelike, notwithstanding the 
bare floor and scant furniture. 


OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 


201 


Before she was aware of wliat she intended to do, 
Ora found herself relieved, by her hostess, of the little 
girl, and her own weary limbs reposing in a large, 
much worn cane bottomed chair. Everything looked 
clean and neat around her, and now that she turned 
her eyes upon the woman whose busy fingers were 
divesting Ada of her wet garments, she thought the 
face less harsh and ill-favored, and the dress, though 
dripping from her late exposure in the rain, was clean 
and whole. Sitting before the few blazing boards on 
the hearth, with the torpor of weariness, pain and 
want, creeping over her, she still wondered how it was 
that she did everything so swif% and quietly. There 
was a little chest in one corner of the room, and from 
this Betsey took several articles of child’s clothing, 
from which she selected a white night gown, and 
laying the others carefully in tlieir place again, put 
the article we have mentioned upon the child, whom 
she had already bathed, and wiped dry with a clean 
soft towel. The long brown curls, straight now from 
being wet, had been wiped also, and brushed away 
from the little thin face; and when she was dressed 
in the night robe, the mother thought she looked 
terribly pale and deathly. Perhaps it was the gloom 
of evening and the gathering mists in her eyes, but 
she much feared it was neither, that caused the deathly 
wanness apparent upon the child’s features. 

While she looked on and strove to think steadily, 
Betsey Miles brought from a closet a little crib which 
had a nice clean bed and pillows in it, for a child to 
rest upon. The sheets looked snowy white, and the 
pillows very soft. Lifting Ada upon them she care- 


202 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


fully tucKed her in, and without a word left her and 
again disappeared, this time in another small room 
leading from the one where she sat. 

When she came back she had a cup of warm milk 
and bread in one hand, and a slice of bread and 
butter in the other. One she handed to the mother, 
while with a spoon she gave the other to the famishing 
child. 

Ora’s heart swelled and her eyes grew blind when 
her daughter grasped at the food with a wild, glad 
cry, and devoured it with the avidity of partial 
starvation. But in a little while she sank back satis- 
fied. The weak stomach refused more, and wdth a 
touching weariness in the bird-like tones, she called 
to her mother: 

“ Let Ada pray now, and go to sleep.” 

Ora moved forward and took the little hands in her 
own, while repeating in choking tones the ever beauti- 
ful and touching prayer which had been almost the 
first that was taught to the little child, for whom to 
suffer death it would be nothing, were her happiness 
secured by that death — “ Our Father.” For her there 
was peculiar sweetness in it, and she thought on this 
night, more than a double meaning. She never felt 
it as she did now. “ Lead us not into temptation, but 
deliver us from evil.” Had not He preserved her from 
the evil of self-destruction in the hour of her tempta- 
tion. Had He not given to her lips and those of her 
child, the daily bread that preserved the life He had 
willed to save? How strangely and unexpectedly had 
she been snatched from the fate she sought. Thoughts 
like these dwelt in her mind while she repeated the 


203 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

prayer, and Ada’s voice chimed in mnrmiiringly. 
AY lien she had done, the little girl’s eyes were already 
closed, and almost in the same moment she slept — 
heavily, as if she might never wake more, it was so 
profound. She was weeping silently when she turned 
from the contemplation of the touching picture, and 
attempted to swallow the food Mrs. Miles had given 
her. 

A wonderful faculty this poor woman possessed. 
She could keep her tongue still while feet and fingers 
were busy, and accomplish more in fifteen minutes 
than another would have done in an hour, when the 
heart had been more in the gratification of a morbid 
curiosity, than the relief of suftering. She had paused 
reverently during that brief prayer, but at its close 
she once more went to the chest, and this time it was 
a woman’s night dress she brought out. That chest 
seemed the receptacle general of all imaginable kind 
of thino'3 ; for in a little while she had taken various 
small parcels from it which she laid upon a chair, and 
at last came back with a new comb and brush, and 
without waiting to ask permission, unloosed the heavy 
bands of hair wound around Ora’s aching head, and 
let the wet mass fall over her shoulders in wild profu- 
sion. 

Ora’s hair was both an incumbrance and a gloiy. 
Had there been a spark of vanity in lier composition, it 
must have fixed upon this native wealth, which a Prin- 
cess might have coveted, and been unable with all her 
wealth and power to purchase. 

AVhen slie stood up and sufiered it to fiill around 
her, it descended almost to her feet, veiling her form 


204 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

like a mantle. Great care had kept it soft and rich, 
while the bright gloss of the dark brown waves, gave 
it an air of indescribable beauty. 

Mrs. Miles could not suppress an exclamation of 
surprise and delight, as the heavy rolls fell about 
Ora’s person, and she endeavored to brush it out 
smoothly. 

“Holy Mother, did anybody ever see sich a head of 
hair? Sure, an’ if ye’s was as poor as Job, this would 
be a fortune to yes any day. There aint the likes of 
this in this blessed city.” 

Betsey was naturally handy, and veiy gentle ; and 
Ora sat soothed and resting under her kind hands, 
while she performed the office which made her feel 
such a sense of grateful relief. 

In less than half an hour, she too was clad in a 
loose diT robe, and reposing on a clean bed in the 
little back room, where, after tea, Betsey brought the 
crib and placed it beside her. 

The tea she had made strong and fragrant, which, 
with the thin slice of toast deliciously browned over 
the few glowing coals upon the hearth, made the poor 
wanderer feel like another being. 

It was quite dark when Mrs. Miles had got all her 
little parcels tied up and again stowed away in the 
chest, and she was compelled to light a candle to 
complete the task. After that she went outside the 
back door, and Ora could hear the splashing of water, 
as if some one was washing clothes. Listening and 
thinking, she became convinced that her own and 
Ada’s garments were undergoing a purifying process, 
and it was not long ere they hung smoking upon the 


OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 


205 


backs of three or four chairs, with a fire blazing 
before them, kindled bj the woman whose resources 
seemed like magic, springing from all sorts of odd 
places. Through the open door, Ora had seen her 
raise a board in the floor, and from beneath draw out 
the wood which she used. An iron was placed before 
the fire to get hot, and a blanket folded over the little 
table, where, after the clothes had dried sufficiently, 
they were neatly ironed and hung again over chairs 
to air. 

All this done, Betsey for the first time betrayed a 
sign of curiosity. Or, perhaps, we should say inter- 
est, for those who act as she did, are seldom moved 
by motives of curiosity alone. There is a deeper 
foundation, and goodness and benevolence are the 
predominant qualities in such compositions. 

Bringing a chair near the bed, she planted it close 
to Ora’s head, and asked, in a voice she strove to 
render kind : 

“What made ye’swant to drownd yerself, to-day?” 

“Want and suffering I” 

“ IIow came ye’s to be in sich want as to drive ye’s 
to sich a sinful deed as self-destruction ?” 

“ God alone knows ! 1 scarcely comprehend,” Ora 

replied almost vehemently. “ I worked while I could. 
When I grew too ill, it was taken from me because I 
could not get on more rapidly with it, and then I got 
in debt, and being unable to pay board or rent, was 
stripped of the little I had and turned out of doors. 
The story is short, but comprehends a great deal !’^ 

“Yes, a short story, but no little one for all that; 
and no new one. Hundreds like ye’s have been turned 


206 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


out doors, an’ some of ’em like ye’s have tried to 
end their misery in the dark river. But its very 
foolish an’ Avicked. I saw ye’s pass here as if ye’s 
could see nothing in the world, but what ye’s was 
thinking of, an’ I knowed ye’s was in a strange way. 
I thro wed a old shaAvl over my head and folloAved 
ye’s as fast as I could, to see what ye’s vranted to do at 
the wather. I thought meby ye wanted to get in, but 
didn’t like to go up to ye’s till I see ye’s drop yer head 
an’ yer lips move like prayin’. Thin I said to mysilf, 
‘ now’s yer time, Betsey Miles,’ so up I goes an’ got 
hold of ye’s jist in time to keep ye’s from jumpin’ in. 
What’s the use of takin’ one’s own life that’s give to 
us to do good wid ?” philosophized the queer hostess, 
meditatively. “ Dont ye know, when the blissed 
Father thinks ye’s has had enough of this world. He’ll 
take you from it Hisself ?” 

“ I believe you,” answered Ora, repentantly, veiling 
her tearful eyes wdth her thin, slender fingers. “ I 
was very Avrong and sinful, but human strength is 
very frail. I did not think it kind or merciful Avhen 
you came betAveen me and death, but a little time for 
thought, and your great kindness, has brought me 
back to reason. Oh, how can I thank you? You are 
an angel of goodness !” 

Ora stretched out both delicate little hands, and 
grasped the rough hard ones of her loAvly friend. 
There aauis a curious mixture of feeling stamped upon 
the features of the woman. She appeared to appre- 
ciate Ora’s gratitude, and was yet uiiAvilling to accept 
her thanks or acknoAvledge any merit in the service 
she had done her. After a moment’s hesitation, she 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


207 


managed to speak, but her words sounded very un- 
gracious, and strangely at variance with the expres- 
sion upon her face. 

“Go long wid ye’s,” she exclaimed. “Betsey 
Miles a angel of anything ! Angel ! a Irish angel ! 
Some folks gits funny notions, an’ that’s no lie !” 

In spite of herself. Ora smiled. The stress Betsey 
laid upon the “ Irish” sounded too ludicrous. There 
was surely as much room for angelic goodness in the 
composition of a poor Irish woman, as any other. 
Yet Betsey seemed not to think so, or was very 
unwilling to acknowledge it. For what reason, those 
who knew her best, might have told better. 

Betsey Miles was an exception to her class. Igno- 
rant, uneducated except in the commonest use of the 
English language, she stood, still in her lowliness and 
poverty, above her class in native intelligence and 
strength of character. Hers had been a painful lot, 
and, unlike most in her station, she had become a 
better woman from the taste she had liad from the cup 
of affliction. Her husband, a strong, able-bodied, easy 
natured man, had been a jobber, and in an unlucky 
moment, during which he endeavered to assist in 
tlie raising of stones for house building, a pulley had 
given way, and the unfortunate wretch was crushed 
beneath them. This had been a very heavy blow, for 
they were poor, and all the efforts of both united, had 
but been barely sufficient to keep a shelter over their 
heads, and provide them with the plainest necessities 
of life. Now she had funeral expenses to pay, and 
nothing but her own labor to bear her out in the 
difficulty. 


208 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


But there was another trial still in store for the 
poor woman. In the midst of her grief and suffering, 
her little girl, a fair child of three years, was stricken 
down and died. This child had been the idol of her 
rough, yet loving hearted parents. Frail, tender, and 
wondrously beautiful, it seemed almost impossible to 
stranger eyes to recognize in her the offspring of such 
people as Billy Miles and his wife. And this seemed 
to please the parents as much as anything else. They 
loved to adorn her beauty, and every spare penny 
went for the purpose. Betsey was neat and tidy in 
her habits, and could use the needle deftly as a profes- 
sional seamstress. She took in washing for families, 
and often when these articles were carried home, a 
present of some old garment from the ladies, would 
enrich the little beauty’s wardrobe with a new article 
of apparel, neatly cut and sewed by the mother’s 
hands, while her clothes, washed, were drying for the 
iron. She was never idle, and through her industry 
many little comforts were provided for the baby it 
might never have known otherwise. There were 
soft white night robes made from old linen ; snowy 
little sheets and pillow cases, for the hardly earned 
crib, which became Betsey’s chief pride when it had 
been bought and furnished ; and every little dainty 
that could be obtained, went to sustain the uncon- 
scious author of the most perfect happiness the poor, 
lowly, hard laboring parents could possibly experience. 

Boor Betsey’s heart was nearly broken under the 
terrible blow of her child’s death. But it quieted and 
strengthened her most wonderfully. She labored 
still, and kept her house neat, and her person coinforta- 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


209 


ble. She did not grow bitter and cross, and repine 
vainly. From the day she buried the little ITorah, 
she turned again to her old routine, for if the poor 
live, they have little time for idle indulgence of grief. 
But someway she always seemed to find others on 
whom her scant means were expended, even as she 
now expended them upon Ora Meredith and her child. 
It may appear strange that one like her should seek 
to be charitable, still, it is no less true. She found 
many opportunities for the practice of her benevolent 
purposes, and not a few, in her simple way, had been 
benefited. 

She had seen Ora pass her door as before described, 
clasping the little child in her arms, and her kind 
heart thrilled with sympathetic pity. Perhaps it 
was the strained look in the blue eyes, as she passed, 
or the sight of the babe on her bosom, on whom the 
pitiless rain was falling, that had moved her so 
strongly. Any way, she had followed and brought 
her back. Mother and child were warmly clad and 
supplied with food, and now both reposed on clean, 
soft beds. What rich man or woman could do more 
than had she, to relieve the present misery of the 
sufferer ? 

Ora lay for some time watching the face of her 
hostess, and thinking of what she had done, tracing 
out in the deed just performed' the innate goodness of 
a nature at once delicate and refined through sorrow. 
Gradually she questioned her with interest which 
grew with the answers she received, and at length 
o-athered from her the particulars we have touched 
upon in the simple history of Betsey Miles. 

18 


210 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


How her heart swelled for the wife — the mother — 
bereft of all ! What a chain of sympathy was woven 
between them ! Here was a woman on whom 
Poverty had laid a heavy hand, and with whom she 
had struggled all her life. A woman with a loving 
heart and noble mind, bereft of all she cherished, 
meekly taking up the burthen of her life, and laboring 
still, patiently and uncomplainingly, and spending its 
fruits upon strangers! For the time, the two w’ere 
upon equal grounds. Ora felt the simple goodness of 
the woman before her, above her own advantages of 
education and birth. Both were poor — both suffering. 
Why should she recognize a difference between them? 
Reflection humiliated her before the superior qualities 
of her benefactress, with all her own advantages, she 
had come to want with her child, while this woman 
was able to bestow charity upon her in her need! 

This mode of reflection was becoming very painful, 
but perhaps it was the best she could have fallen into 
at the time, and lead her into a self examination that 
had a wliolesome effect upon her mind. Hew hopes, 
new motives and resolves sprang up faintly, it is true, 
but still they were hopes and resolves that might prove 
the seeds of future good. 

But the weary mind refused at last to dwell longer 
upon painful themes, and in utter exhaustion. Ora 
closed her tear wet eyes, and with a prayer upon her 
lips, sank to sleep, while Betsy Miles sat near, intently 
gazing into the pale, sweet face, and upon the little 
white hand, fair, soft and dimpling as a child's, that 
lay over the sheets. 

She too was buried in reflection. It required no 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


211 


effort to judge of the difference between herself and 
her guest, in point of station. The delicate, refined 
face, and sweet, pure language would have betrayed 
Ora a lady to the most ignorant, even had she been 
drawn from a gutter. So while she slept, Betsey 
watched and conjectured over her. What had reduced 
her to this ? She turned her eyes upon the sleeping 
child, and a painful shade darkened her face for a 
time and she sighed heavily. Perhaps she thought 
of her as high born and possessing every advantage, 
rashly rushing from the shelter of her home, upon 
the cold charities of a cold world, while no arm was 
stretched forth to save her. Something of this nature 
must have risen in her mind to cause the shadow, 
but it softened again, and there was only yearning, 
loving pity in the misty gray eyes that regarded the 
two so intently as the hours wore on. 


CHAPTER XXL 

A SWEET and peaceful haven seemed this little 
tenement to Ora when the morning light from the 
eastern window falling on her eyes, wakened her. 
Betsey marched with quiet footsteps back and forth, 
busy in the preparation of a really dainty breakfast 
The fragrance of cofiee and frying ham sent a pleasant 
odor into ihe room — pleasant because she was 
ravenously hungry, and felt now as if anything would 
be palatable. Looking from the bed, she beheld a 
plate upon the hearth, heaped with toast, and very 


212 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


tempting in its rich brown color. A grateful thrill 
quivered through her frame, and an earnest petition, 
not framed in words, but in heart, was to this effect: 
“God give me strength to repay this bounty. Let the 
bread this woman gives me, be as bread cast upon 
the waters. Ah ! help me, that I may repay it an 
hundred fold. I thank Thee, my God, that Thou 
hast made me with a grateful heart. Oh, keep me 
so forever, while it is Thy will that life continues. 
Show me the way that I should walk, and even though 
the path be rough and thorny, if Thou art near me, I 
shall not faint by the way.” 

Slowly the shadow seemed to rise. The silver 
lining of the cloud was peeping out of the gloom, 
and with the first dawn of its light, her heart rose in 
warm thankfulness, and grasped at the hope rising 
slowly before her. If a way of present relief had 
been provided, there was no reason to despair of it 
in future. Faith was once more bending the light 
of her smile upon her, and her strength infused new 
life into the tried soul of the wanderer. She accepted 
unquestioningly. The proof of divine interposition 
was so strong, she dared not doubt or question ; 
Only to wait and hope, and to arouge herself to work. 

Ada, still sleeping, stirred upon her pillow, and 
as she did so, revealed the face before concealed by 
tlie mass of falling curls. The cheeks were flushed, 
and the respiration heavy and irregular. With a 
vague sense of fear. Ora rose quickly and caught the 
little hands. They were burning ; the pulse fluttering. 
The mouth was parched and dry. No need for a 
second examination to tell the painful story. The 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


213 


child was ill ! The conviction fell darkly over the 
mother’s soul. The cloud but this moment rising to 
let in light and hope, settled back with still heavier 
gloom, and the cold chill of blank despair blew over 
her heart, like the chill winds upon a desert waste. 

A half-smothered moan broke from her lips, as the 
mother fell upon her knees by the crib, and full of 
wonder, Betsey came to her side to see the cause of 
her grief. A glance at her face a few moments 
before, had shown her calm, almost smiling in her 
new born hope and thankfulness. She had not seen 
her rise, and now felt half alarmed at this sudden 
exhibition of feeling. 

‘AYhat’s the throuble ?” she asked abruptly. 

‘‘ Oh, Mrs. Miles, my poor baby is ill ! Feel her 
hands— look at her face ! Oh ! it is hard !” 

Betsey took the child’s hands, and her coarse face 
became the picture of fear and conimisseration, while 
her eyes filled with tears. One moment she stood 
mutely by, her gaze upon mother and child alter- 
nately. How her own heart ached. She remembered 
the sunny face of the little Norah lying where Ada’s 
now rested, while she in her wild grief, knelt where 
Mrs. Meredith w^as kneeling. At another time she 
might have tried to reassure and comfort her, in her 
plain way, but now memory was too strongly upon 
her. She could only look and weep. 

Oh, Ada, my babe !” quivered through the white 
lips of the stricken woman. “ Surely, I am doomed ! 
I could bear to suffer anything, but you— all that I 
have to love— the last earthly link, oh, it is too bitter ! 
IIow can I bear this affliction ?” 


214 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

‘‘ Don’t, don’t !” essayed Betsey, pityingly. “ May 
be it aint so bad, aftlier all.” 

But the mother knew that it was ‘‘bad.” Ada’s 
eyes were first to unclose, in the morning, when well, 
and her voice to trill in its birdlike tones, her joy in 
the new born day. Her lithe feet, like elastic, 
bounded everywhere, and, full of lightness and life, 
woke all around her with their pattering. Were she 
not very ill, she would not be lying in that hot, heavy 
slumber at such an hour. 

“Betsey,” she said, speaking familiarly, as to an 
old friend, “ Ada is very sick, and I must get a 
doctor. Where can I find one ? My child must not 
die without an efibrt to save her. Tell me where to 
go for one !” 

“ Sure an’ I don’t know jist where ye’d find a 
docther ye’d be aftlier havin’. Ye’s might get the 
one that lives jist a little way up town, Docther 
Wharton, or some sich name.” 

“Would he come to me, Betsey, if he knew of my 
utter poverty and misery ? Suppose he should think 
I could never pay him. Would he come ?” 

“ Divil take the spalpeen tliat wouldn’t !” was the 
rejoinder, more expressive than elegant. “ What 
man wid a heart, could kape hisself away, for the 
matther of a dollar or two ? Try him, that’s the best 
way.” 

Ora resolved to act upon this advice at once. Her 
mother’s heart but too surely warned her of the danger 
of dela3^ Every other thought and feeling was 
swallowed up in the one great fear that had come 
upon her. Her own failing strength, and the atten- 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 215 

dant horrors of her partially helpless condition, for 
the time were forgotten. 

Dressing as hastily as her trembling limbs would 
permit, she swallowed a cup of the fragrant coffee 
Betsey forced upon her, and hastened away in quest 
of a physician. Mrs. Miles had given her directions 
how to find Dr. Wharton, and she bent her steps 
toward his office with a wildly beating heart. 

It was too early for him to have gone out on his 
usual round of visits. Her only fear was, that he had 
not yet reached the place. But this fear decreased 
as she neared the building that rose in stately splen- 
dor before her, and saw that the doctor’s sign swung 
out in large gold letters upon a black ground, fastened 
to the shutter of one window of the office. The 
dwelling part of the house began to show signs of the 
life stirring within. Her hopes rose a little, but her 
heart throbbed heavily, and her breath came thick 
and fast, as she mounted the marble steps and rang 
the bell. 

A sleek negro boy answered the summons, and 
stood insolently surveying her from head to foot as 
he demanded in no polite tone what she “ wanted.” 

“ I want to see Dr. Wharton,” she answered huskily. 
“ Let me see him quickly. My child is very ill.” 

Without moving, he said slowly — 

“ Dr. Wharton is not up yet. It is too early for 
office hours. You must wait. But stay; on second 
thoughts, you need not come to him, I think, for he 
will be too busy. You’d better go to some other- 
doctor. I don’t think he can attend your child.” 

The tone and manner of the black were too much 


21G ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

for Ora to bear. The fair, pale cheeks flushed hotly^ 
and her eye flashed Are. Every nerve was quivering 
with excitement. But her voice was firm to sternness 
in her agonizing intensity of feeling when she spoke 
again. 

“ I do not ask you for your opinions. I want the 
doctor, and demand that you inform him of the fact 
instantly. Go !” 

He still hesitated, and Ora felt her blood boiling 
with overwrought feeling, when a cold, measured 
voice broke upon her ear. The negro started as if 
he had been shot, and as he moved aside, her eyes 
fell upon a tall, cadaverous looking man just behind 
the boy, whose deep set, steel cold blue eyes regarded 
her sharply. 

“ What is all this about ? What’s wanted ?” 

The question was addressed to Ora, and she replied 
to it as well as she could for the hot tears that were 
springing to choke her utterance. 

“ Oh ! sir, my child is ill, and I want a physician 
immediately. The man here told me that the doctor 
had not yet risen, but surely he would get up for the 
sake of saving a life. I cannot, cannot bear to think 
of losing her. Sir, she is all I have on earth !” 

Her tones were thrillingly passionate. She could 
not control the feelings that were surging in her 
bosom, but they might as well have been cold and 
meaningless, for they made no impression upon the 
heart of her hearer. 

“ What did this boy tell you besides ?” he asked, in 
the same measured tones. 

“That I need not wait — that the doctor was busy 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


217 


find lie did not tliirik he could attend my baby. Still, 
it a physicians business to relieve all who apply to 
him, if possible, and I believe if Icould'see him, 
he would surely come with me.’^ 

Where -do you live 

^‘At M— Place.” 

“There? Whew!” 

The tall shoulders were lifted wdth a shrug of dis- 
gust, while the white, clammy looking lips curled. 

“ Gan I not see Dr. Wharton ?” persisted Ora, with 
growing agony, 

“ Suppose you could and he consented to go with 
you. Have you the means of paying for medical 
attendance for your child !” 

“ Not at present. I have but a shelter which 
benevolence has alforded me ; but if I live, no one 
who befriends me now shall ever have reason to 
complain. I will repay every debt, God helping me.” 

How was it in human power to stand before that 
noble hearted woman, her small hands clasped, her 
bosom heaving, and the lofty purposes shadowing 
the high, white brow — listening to her eager words 
and sweet faltering tones, and still remain unmoved. 
Yet no font did it reach in the cold heart of Dr, 
AWiarton. He only shrugged his shoulders a second 
time, and said abruptly ; 

“ A fine story, and one I hear everyday from your 
class. I can’t do anything for you.” 

With the last words he closed the door in her face, 
and scarcely realizing the evidence of her own 
senses, Ora stood for a moment like a statue, where 
he had left her. Then she turned slowly away, 
19 


218 OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 

bewildered and sick. A misty film gathered over 
her eyes, and her limbs felt cold and heavy. The 
blow was almost like death. 

How she reached Mrs. Miles’s house again she 
never knew. She walked without any conscious 
volition of her own, and instinctively found the place 
where her treasure rested. 

Poor Ora was white as wax as she entered — her 
lips were almost livid with agony. It was sometime 
ere the terrified Betsey could gather from her the 
story of the repulse she had met, she was so shocked 
and bewildered by what had happened. 

But, alas ! to poor Betsey, this was nothing so new 
or startling. Born and bred in poverty, its ills were 
of daily occurrence, and she had become too much 
accustomed to them to feel thus keenly one blow. 
Her cheerful tones somewhat aroused the sufferer, as 
she bade her watch with the child until she made an 
effort herself to bring the help she had failed to 
secure. As she donned her plain bonnet and started 
forth. Ora caught her rough hand, covering it with 
tears and kisses. 

“ Oh, Betsey, bring me help for my child, save her 
for me, and I will be your slave 1 Oh, I cannot let 
her die 1” 

Betsey hurried out, too much affected to speak, 
and Ora bent over the crib with suc’i feelings as 
those alone can understand, who, like her, have been 
bereft of everything that makes life dear or endura' 
ble. 

A very little while had wrought a wonderful change 
in Ada. Each cheek was white as marble, save 


219 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

where a briglit red spot burned in the centre ; and 
the blue eyes, rolled upward, seemed lixed in their 
sockets. The little mouth was half open — the lips 
fast pur})ling, while the fever consumed the life in 
tlie frail form. -Ora’s heart seemed breaking. She 
could not tliink — she could not pray in her agony. 
She felt almost as if she was going mad. 

It was more than an hour ere Mrs. Miles returned, 
accompanied by a middle aged man who entered — 
nodded slightly to Ora, looked at Ada and asked a 
few questions, then turning upon his heel prepared 
to quit the place, saying : 

“ No use — too late — can’t do anything — better as 
it is, anyway, better for mother and child — haid 
world this, for poor people. Good morning.” 

And he too was gone without leaving one gleam 
of hope. The mother’s heart was too heavily bur- 
thened to bear this addition to her bitter cup. With 
a low moan, her head sank upon the crib, and for a 
time all earthly sorrows found relief in oblivion. 

Kind Betsey Miles found her hands full rather 
unexpectedly. The care of the two taxed her every 
energy— the dying child and the unconscious mother. 
Still, she never, for a moment shrank from the task. 
She thought nothing of tlic trouble she had brought 
upon herself— only of the best means of affording 
what relief she might to the stray waifs drifted so 
strangely in upon the humble hospitality she could 
afford them. 

It Avas almost dark ere Ora arose from the terrible 
bloAV that had fallen so crushingly upon her, and 
recovered herself sufficiently to render any aid in 


220 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


nursing her child. Tint hers was an exceedingly 
unselfish nature, and a pang of remorse shot tlirongli 
her heart when she lifted her aching eyes to Betsey's 
face, and saw how worn and tired she appeared. 
Between the mother and child, Mrs. Miles had had a 
hard day’s labor, and her looks betrayed it in spite 
of herself. Now, however, the mother roused herself 
resolutely, and took her place beside her babe. The 
bitterest struggle was past, and as hope receded, 
despair calmed her. She knew that Death was 
coming. Already the light of life was fading from 
the blue eyes, and the signet of the destroyer was 
planting its impress upon the baby brow. White 
roses were springing in the cheeks but lately flushed 
wdth the red ones of fever, and the mother knew 
that the morning light would find her childless. 

A still, but bitter pain was in the heart of the 
watcher as the hours went by. Despair crushed and 
calmed her, but could not deaden the feeling which 
stung to momentary fits of partial madness. At 
times she wanted to fl}^ for aid, and seek still to 
bring back life to the beloved form. Love clamored 
for its only object with frantic energy, but Hope 
held no alluring light before the dimmed eyes of the 
sufferer. 

So the hours rolled on. One by one the sands 
dropped from the glass of life, and as their golden 
gleams receded to the shores of eternity, the cold, 
chilly waves of Death rolled up to receive the tiny 
burthen about to be launched upon its bosom. And 
when at last the morning’s sun rose and cast a flood 
of glorious beauty over earth and sky, the white 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 221 

fingers of tlie mother were softly folding the dark 
fringed lids over the beautiful eyes, and settling the 
little waxen limbs in their last repose. 

Very, very calm was the look of the deep eyes 
and the expression of the pale face, now. Words 
were mockeries to express the feelings of the 
bereaved heart, and so the lips were mute while that 
heart sent up wild cries of agony, unheard except by 

Him who seeth and heareth all things.” 

Mrs. Miles’s tears dropped silently as the mother 
gently but firmly put her aside, and persisted in 
herself performing the last sad offices for the dead. 
It was a touching sight to see the fair young face 
bending over the little sleeper, while with gentle 
fingers she brushed and twined the bright curls over 
the waxen forehead for the last time. Everything 
that loving care could do, she did alone, folding the 
little hands, and arranging the form as tenderly as if 
life still inhabited the tiny casket, and needed the 
tender care she bestowed. Think of it, ye mothers, 
who in your wild despair, shut yourselves up in 
darkened rooms to weep over your lost ones, while 
stranger hands compose your dead for the tomb ! 
None were there to lead her away from such an office, 
and speak to her gentle words of comfort in her 
bereavement. Alone she had met her grief, and 
alone she must bear out the trial. Poor mother! 

But now arose still another difficulty to surmount. 
Between the two, protege and benefactress, there was 
not a dollar to pay funeral expenses. What could be 
done now? To whom could she go for aid? The 
child must have decent burial. Yet how could she 


222 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

obtain the means ? Ob, it is a liard thing to lind 
one’s self in such an extremity as not to be able to 
claim one spot of earth sufficient to l^y the dead ! 
How bitterly Ora felt this, none but God could know! 
Yet an effort must be made. She thought of Dr- 
Clifton, but recoiled instantly. She could not boar 
to go to him ! Pride had held her back, even when 
starvation threatened her, and she could not go to 
him now! Her mind groped hopelessly amid the 
shadows of her position for any ray of light by wliich 
to be guided, but it was in vain. Turn wdiere she 
would, all seemed dark and inextricable. At last she 
despairingly appealed to Betsey 

“ Oh, Mrs. Miles what can I do V 

“ Sure, an’ its a hard case inthirely,” was the reply 
of the poor woman, whose kind heart bled over Ora’s 
troubles. “ I wish it was in me power to help ye’s, 
but I can’t for the life of me see the way mesilf. 
Och, hone ! The saints hilp us !” 

At last a thought occurred to her which she grasped 
eagerly. 

“I will go to some clergyman and tell him of my 
difficulty. Perhaps I may obtain some aid, and give 
my child a decent burial. I cannot bear that she 
should be laid in a pauper’s grave.” 

With a sad and heavy heart she started forth on 
her mournful errand, leaving Betsey to watch with 
the dead. It was sometime ere she could find out 
where to bend her step^ in search of a minister’s 
dwelling ; and when she did, she applied at three 
places vainly; the gentlemen were either out, or too 
much engaged to see any one. 


223 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

At length she mounted the steps of a palatial like 
mansion in the most aristocratic part of the town, 
and with trembling fingers touched the hell. In her 
hand she lield the strip of paper bearing the names 
of tlie persons she had called upon, and the numbers 
of their dwellings. She had obtained them by look- 
ing at a Directory, and this was the last on the list. 
If she failed here, where should she go ? 

Wliile she stood waiting, the door opened, and a 
young gentleman came out hastily. His eye searched 
her with one hurried glance, and then he was about 
to spring down the steps when Ora accosted him 
timidly : 

“ Your pardon, sir, but will you see if Mr. Kay- 
mond is home 

“Yes. You want to see him? Ah, I am afraid 
you cannot. He is very much engaged. Tell me 
what you want. I may help you, perhaps.” 

“Thank you, but I prefer speaking to him if 
possible. Could you not obtain an interview for 
me ?” 

“ Is it of great importance ?” 

“ Very, sir, to me.” 

“ Of what nature, may I ask ?” 

“ Excuse me, please, but I would rather explain to 
the clergyman himself.” 

The young man’s eyes were on her face in a full, 
searching gaze, but the look was kind and respectful, 
notwithstanding.- He saw that in her which seemed 
to command courtesy, and he was not indisposed to 
give it. He turned at once without further questions, 
and re-entered the house. In a minute he came 


224 * ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

back, and begged she would follow him, which she 
did, mounting a broad staircase, and pausing before 
a wide door. 

Without knocking, the young man opened the door 
and said : 

“ Here, father, is the lady who is so anxious to see 
you,” and turning to her motioned her to enter, and 
bowing respectfully, closed the door again and 
retired. 

Ora’s heart fluttered painfully as she found herself 
face to face with a tall, dignified looking man of 
fifty. His hair was white, and lent to his face some- 
thing of a benevolent cast; but that was destroyed 
by a more minute survey of the mouth, whose stern 
lines were now stretched to portentous length as his 
eyes asked : 

Well, what do you want 

“ Sir,” she began^ but the words choked her, and 
she burst into tears, sobbing for a moment violently. 

The minister neither moved nor spoke, but stood 
"waiting patiently for the explanation of her business. 
This coldness Ora felt keenly, and it served more 
than anything else could to calm her. Drying her 
tears resolutely, she steadied her voice and began 
again. 

“Sir, I beg your pardon for this intrusion, but 
circumstances of a most painful nature have forced 
me to it. Misfortune has followed me in everything. 
I have lost home, friends, and the means even of 
living. I am alone in the world and almost an utter 
stranger in this city. Last night death severed from 
me the last kindred tie, and now all 1 had to love oi 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 225 

comfort me is gone. I am in a bitter extremit}^ I 
have not a spot to bury her — my little child, and no 
means of obtaining one. I came to you for assistance. 
Oh, sir, if you can help me to give my little girl a 
decent burial, all that you give shall be amply repaid 
if my life is spared.” 

She lifted her eyes to his face in her passionate 
appeal, but his were pertinaciously studying the long 
rows of books along the walls. AVhen she ceased, 
he pursed his lips slightly, and cleared his throat. 

‘‘Hem! humph! sit down !” pointing to a seat. 
“ A sad story,” he continued, as she sank half fainting 
upon the chair. “I would like it more in detail, 
before I promise anything. How came you in such 
a forlorn condition ? You have not always been 
poor ?” 

“ No, sir. Until the few past years, I have never 
known the necessity of labor. But misfortune comes 
to all. I was an orphan when I married. AVhen I 
lost my husband I lost my wealth also, and had no 
friends, consequently, to go to for aid. I have, 
therefore, endeavored to work my way upward 
amongst strangers. The task has proved a very 
dithcult one — more difficult than I ever imagined, 
and I have failed. I stand to-day friendless and 
helpless !” 

‘‘Bad, bad !” 

He shook his head gravely. 

“ What have you tried doing?” he continued. Ora 
flushed. She could scarcely bear the thought of 
going into details, but her love of truth forced her to 
reply : 


226 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


“ At first I tried teaching, as governess in a gentle- 
man’s famil_y.” 

Where was tiiat ?” 

“ Here, in New York. 

‘‘ Whose was it?” 

“ Pardon me, but I cannot tell you. There are 
circumstances connected with my departure that you 
could not understand, for I cannot explain them 
clearly to you, and which would render an attempt 
very painful.” 

“ Some misdemeanor of yours, I suppose, which 
you fear to confess,” he remarked, rather severely. 

“ No sir, a misunderstanding through an enemy. 
I can say truly, I was guilty of no wrong, and 
discharged my duty faithfully, as even they would 
testify.” 

“ Humph ! Well, after that?” 

“ After that, I took in sewing, but my health failed, 
and I could not support myself on the little I could 
make by my needle. I got into debt gradually, and 
after everything I possessed was sold, I was turned 
from the miserable abode I had occupied for some 
time. I knew no place to go, and was too ill to seek 
one. My child and I were exposed to the pitiless 
storm two days ago, which has ended her sorrows, 
while mine are increased. A poor woman saw and 
took me in for the night, and her kindness has shel- 
tered us since. But she is almost as helpless as 1. 
What to do, I cannot tell.” 

• “ Did you not know that there are those whose 
business it is to bury the poor? Why did you not 
go to them?” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 227 

“ Ob, sir, I could not bear that my child should be 
buried as a pauper. Indeed I could not.” 

“And why not, since she is such ?” he asked coldly. 

For a moment Ora was mute with agony. Then 
she uttered painfully : 

“ I know, sir, that I have descended to the very 
depths of poverty, and have no rigid to expect more. 
But still I cannot bear the thoughts of this last bitter 
drop in my bitter cup. I cannot crush the feeling of 
pride tliat makes the idea revolting ” 

“It is your duty to do it, however. AVhat does it 
matter where the dead body is laid, or by whom, or 
in what condition, after the immortal soul has taken 
its flight to God who gave it ? It is our duty to 
mortify the flesh, and purge it of such unholy senti- 
ments as you have just expressed. I certainly cannot 
encourage such feelings in you.” 

Ora covered her face in despair. That cold voice 
had no pity or sympathy in it. And yet this man 
claimed to be a servant of God, from whom we are 
taught to expect love and kindness, as His chosen 
people. What wonder if for a moment the poor 
tried heart felt all the bitterness of a stirring rebel- 
lion, not against her God, but against the test of 
endurance put upon her. What had she done to 
deserve the long array of sorrow that had come upon 
her? First, the loss of home and friends — then toil 
among strangers — contention with difficulty, final 
disgrace, poverty, sickness, death, and now the cold 
and cruel crushing of the last fliinthope to which she 
ha<l clung, and by one whose hand should have been 
stretched out inhumane kindness at least, if no more.- 


228 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

While the bitter tide of feeling surged within her, 
the minister sat still, looking severe and grave as 
though he had been led by a strong sense of duty to 
reprove wrong. There was not a softening line in 
the whole cast of features, and as she looked up once 
again, words trembling upon her lips of bitter import, 
she knew how vain it was to speak, and rose hope- 
lessl3^ 

A strong impulse held her back, however, when 
she reached the door. The wish which burned for 
utterance on her lips, could not be withheld. Tears 
were dried on the white cheeks now, and the fire 
of agony and resentment blazed in the large eyes as 
she turned them full on his face, one hand resting on 
the handle of the door, and the whole form shakins: 
from head to foot as she said : 

“God forgive you, sir. You profess to be His 
servant, and yet this day you have been guilty of an 
unchristian and cruel action. You have refused me 
aid when you are surrounded with luxuries. You 
have denied me a word of sympathy which would 
have cost you nothing, even when you see that my 
heart is breaking. I am alone, helpless, without 
friends, without means — an^dhing that would give 
me hope or strength for the future, and when I tell 
you my condition and ask only the harmless gratifi- 
cation of seeing my child — who was all I had, 
decently buried, you turn me away with the reproof 
due to sin, and tell me it is wrong to wisli such a 
thing. Oh! if this is your religion — if this is the 
religion you live upon, God pity you when you come 
to die !” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


229 


The words were spoken, and she turned away 
relieved, while the dumb struck minister looked 
after her retreating form as though she had been 
some wild creation which suddenl}^ sprang up to 
confound him, and then to vanish from sight. Before 
he could recall his scattered wits, she was gone and 
the servant had closed the door, once more shutting 
her out to drift helplessly in the wide world. 

The strength of despair alone steadied her footsteps 
as she turned her face once more toward the humble 
domicil where her dead rested. She paid no attention 
to the hundred eyes that gazed upon her as she 
wended her way through busy crowds. She thought 
of nothing but her helplessness — and the bitter agony 
of her heart, which seemed likely to break with its 
wearying load. And yet many an eye was turned 
upon the pale, thin face as she passed, with the 
strange look in the blue eyes that gazed straight 
before her, and the purple, compressed lips that closed 
like a vice upon her misery. 

Thus she pursued her way from amid the throngs 
to the more humble portion of the city. A¥hen 
within a short distance of Mrs. Miles’s abode she 
paused and clasped her hands together in a gesture 
of indescribable anguish. 

‘‘ What can I do ?” broke from her lips in passionate 
accents. “ Must I submit to a fate so cruel ? Oh ! 
God, what have I done that I should be punished 
thus ? Forgive me, if I rebel, but oh. Thou hast tried 
me hardly, and I am weak, AVhat can 1 do? Show 
me a path that I may walk out of the darkness into 
the light ! God be merciful !” 


230 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


There was a loose pile of old boards heaped 
against the fence near where she stood, and she sat 
down upon them, dropping her face in her hands. 
The world had dealt very hardly with her, and do not 
condemn her too harshly, dear reader, if she appears 
so cliildisldy weak and helpless. Who could pass 
through such a series of affliction, and come out 
strong and enduring still, ready to battle on with 
adversity? 

Here began a struggle between heart and brain. 
Beason strove to calm the tide that raged within her 
breast, while Love and Feeling clamored all the 
more wildly for the restraint Beason endeavored to 
put upon them. 

Beason is ever without sympathy, but the strength 
she gives is invaluable. And now her subtle sophistry 
would make itself felt. 

“Of what use to yield thus?” she said, wisely. 
“ God never created a being without the power of 
self-control. God is just. He would not create wants 
without the means wherewith to supply them, nor 
sufferings too great for the strength to bear. He tries 
for purposes, and gives strength according to your 
needs. Have faith and rise up. Why be so utterly 
cast down ? What have you done with the teachings 
of a lifetime, that they have no power now to sustain 
you ? Has experience thrown her lessons away upon 
you? That which you are now suffering you have 
voluntarily brought upon yourself. You left a home 
of luxury and the friends who idolized you, because 
one only, whom you trusted, proved unworthy. Did 
you come out into the world expecting to find a 


OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 


231 


pathway of flowers? Had you done so, your first 
lesson must have shown you your error. Step by 
step you have struggled through thorns. Will you 
pause now in the midst of difficulty and make no 
further efibrts ; or will you rise and struggle onward? 
There is still the power within you. Only energy 
grows lazy for want of exercise. Bring it forth and 
use it for good purposes. You are young — tlie world 
calls you talented and accomplished. God has fitted 
you for a useful life. Are you going to waste it in 
useless pining? Rise up bravely, meet your fate 
whatever it be, and move onward.” 

But the sore heart cried out “What can I do? 
Every hope seems crushed. All that life holds dear 
has been taken away. First, the idol I worshipped 
crumbles to dust at my feet. Then comes suffering, 
toil, disgrace, poverty, sickness and death. Why 
must life be so laden with woe? Energy and hope 
both lie crushed, because nothing in the dark future 
encourages them to rise from the mountain weights 
that bear them down. They cannot throw off the 
load, for there is no purpose in the attempt— no 
motive in the future. Life is dark and useless. Let 
me die and be at rest.” 

“ Awny with such selfishness,” cried Beason 
sternly. “ Do you live for self alone, or will you try 
to forget it, and devote something to others ? God 
created his creatures with responsive emotions. 
Forget yourself awdiile, and try to lighten the woes 
of some who, like you, have wept themselves blind 
almost with helpless sorrow. Go and try to comfort 
them, and see what a sense of peace will come upon 


232 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

you when you read your success upon tlieir happy 
faces.” 

The colloquy was ended suddenly, and Ora started 
as a hand fell lightly upon her arm. 

“ Pardon me,” said the same manly voice she had 
but lately heard at the minister’s. ‘‘ I fancied you 
M^ere in trouble, and I have followed you. I did not 
need words to tell me that your mission to my father 
was fruitless. What can I do for you 

With a beating heart she looked up into his face. 
It was generous and kind, and sympathy alone marked 
its expression. She felt instinctive trust in his man- 
liness as he stood up before her, but her voice 
faltered painfully as she answered : 

‘‘ Nothing.” 

“ Nothing ! For what did you seek my father 

“ Temporary aid in a sad affliction. My child is 
dead, and I wanted to bury her decently. I thought 
he would help me, but he wdll not. He tells me that 
there are tlmse who will give the poor a pauper’s 
burial — no more. Oh! it will kill me! I could 
have taken charity, even from him, perhaps, though 
I meant to discharge the debt that it might not be 
called by that name. From you I cannot.” 

And why not from me ?” 

‘‘ Because — because — your father is a minister of 
God, whose mission it is to comfort and to relieve, 
lie is an old white haired man. It seems right to 
look to him for help when in distress.” 

“ And he turned you from him ! — but wdiy 
would it not seem tlie same if I aided you?” he 
persisted. 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 233 

She did not answer, and he continued with a half 
smile. 

‘‘ I understand. I am a young man, and you do 
not like the idea of obligation. Strange ! Even in 
the lowest depths of misery, custom hath still its 
power, and conventionality holds tightly upon the 
reins that bind society.” 

His last words were rather muttered than spoken, 
yet Ora caught their import, and blushed painfully 
that she should have betrayed her feelings so plainly. 
After a moment he resumed : 

“ I assure you that my sympathy prompts me 
unconditionally to offer you aid in your distress. But 
I respect your feelings and would spare them. If I 
can help you, say the word, and you shall have what 
you need. I offer to give you nothing ; only to loan 
you that which necessity requires. You can more 
than repay me, if you will.” 

How — in what way ?” murmured Ora, faintly. 

He paused thoughtfully one moment, then said: 

“ I have a friend who is very ill, and for whom I 
wish a kind and tender nurse. Come and take care 
of her until she is able to be removed, and I will pay 
you well for the service.” 

The color came and went rapidly in Ora’s face, 
and she deliberated for a little while almost breath- 
lessly. Was not this a Providential intervention, and 
should she disregard it? The man was an utter 
stranger. Whom the “friend” might prove, .she 
might surmise, yet she had no right to surmise 
unllatteringly. Her feelings were of a conflicting 
nature, and he saw it. 


20 


W' r 


f 

234 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

“ Madam, I perceive you hesitate, and I think I 
understand the cause. But let mo assure you that 
you need have no fear of committing yourself. Only 
the desire to aid you has prompted the offer. I miglit 
get others whom I know to fill the place I offer you, 
but I see how painfully you are situated, and feeling 
your worthiness, I am willing to trust you blindly, 
though I never saw you till to-day. I am not in the 
habit of acting thus upon impulse. But a part of 
'your conversation with my father I overheard, and I 
must confess it angered me beyond measure. He is 
my father, however, and it does not become his son 
to talk of his heartless cruelty. Let it pass. Will 
you accept assistance on the terms I offer?” 

With one more reassuring glance at the earnest, 
manly face. Ora answered gratefully. 

“ I will, and thank you sincerely.” 

‘‘ What is your address?” he asked. 

. With a sadly dreary smile she turned her face 
towards Mrs. Miles’s humble tenement, and pointed 
it out with her finger. 

“ There, for a few hours I have found shelter. 
There you can find me when you want me.” 

Taking a memorandum book from his pocket, he 
marked it down and replacing it, handed her a small 
roll of notes. 

“There are twenty dollars. I will send a man to 
take the child’s measure, and in the meantime have a 
grave prepared in — Cemetery, that is, if you would 
like her buried there.” 

“ I could not ask fur more,” she returned subduedly. 
“ Oh, sir, yon are kind !” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 235 

“ Hush ! do not speak of it. When all is over, I 
will come for you.” 

He held out his hand kindly, and said as he took 
leave : 

“ Do not lose your faith in God because some of 
His “ professing ” children err blindly. They may 
have rigid notions, and mean only to do right God 
is good however, and it is to Him only we must look, 
not stopping to judge by the examples set by frail 
humanity.” 

Tears fell fast as he turned away, so that Ora 
scarcely saw his retreating form. Her heart was too 
full for words of utterance, and he went away without 
hearing her thanks. 

Ah ! what a load was lifted from her heart Her 
present need was supplied, and in this lesson her 
heart took fresh hope and faith for the future. 

With an earnestly grateful heart, she turned back 
to look, upon her dead before putting her from sight 
forever. 


CHAFTEE XXIL 


The sun shone brightly, and many a rain jewed 
flashed from overhanging bough, as Ora descended 
from the .carriage to follow her lost darling into the 
Cemetery. There were no other mourners to stand 
beside her in her hour of affliction, but a kind hand 
assisted her, and a strong arm was gravely presented 
for support as she reeled forward, blinded by sufiering, 
toward the open grave. Betsey Miles, who had 
refused a seat in the carriage beside the bereaved 
mother, stood a little way from the grave, tears slowly 
coursing down her kind cheeks. Beside the grave 
digger, 'the coach driver, and the gentleman to whose 
kindness she owed everything, she was alone. Ah ! 
how keenly she felt it ! Her last earthly treasure ! 
and she was putting her away from sight with not a 
single kindred heart to shed a tear over the I’emains I 
The little coffin was lowered reverently, and the 
mother’s eyes strained a last look down into the dark- 
ness of the tomb ere the turf was heaped upon it. 
The whole world seemed suddenly to have grown 
dark! How could she live without the sunny smile 
and prattle of her darling child ! Would she never 
see her more? Could it be that the sweet babj^ lips 
had for the last time lisped her name? Would the 
little dimpled arms never more clasp her neck in 
childish affection? Oh, to think that all left of the 
( 236 ) 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


237 


once bright being she had fondly called her own, was 
enclosed in that tiny coffin, and that was to be bnried 
from sight ! She could not bear the thought ! It was 
like madness ! A kinJ hand held her back as she 
stooped over the pit and stretched her hands wildly 
towards her babe, but she did not know or heed it. 
With the first spadeful of earth that rattled down upon 
her, the agony of her heart burst forth in a wail. 

“ Oh, Ada ! my child, my precious baby ! I cannot 
give you up !” 

With the cry, her form rocked and swayed like a 
reed, and unconsciousness brought her relief. 

“ Poor thing,” murmured her kind hearted protec- 
tor, compassionately. “ God has been merciful to 
rob her for a time at least, of a knowledge of her 
griefs.” 

They put her in the carriage, tenderly, and seating 
[ himself, Mr. llaymond took her head upon his knees^, 
bidding the driver go on quickly. A kindly nod to 
Betsey and the grave digger, and he was gone, leaving 
the first, sobbing piteously inside the Cemetery,'^diiie 
the other coolly performed his duty without apparent 
emotion. He was used to such scenes. 

The carriage containing the two, rolled on rapidly. 
Mr. Raymond sat still, gravely looking upon the Vvan 
face he supported with deepening interest. He did 
not strive to revive her. Deeming temporary forget- 
fulness a merc}^ to tlie sufferer, he would not seek to 
break it, but sat gazing quietly and thoughtfully upon 
her. 

‘ The features appeared very sharp and thin now. 
Each delicate blue vein was distinctly traced upon the 

! 


238 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


wax white surface of the broad brow, and the long 
lashes lay upon a cheek that was deathly in its hue. 
What suffering was written upon the young features I 
The mouth, even in its pale repose, showed it in the 
weary expression that nothing could efiace. The little 
liauds showed it in their slenderness and transparency. 

A heavy sigh escaped him. 

“ After all,” he thought, ‘‘ my sympathy for this 
poor, forlorn creature may prove a bane. What do I 
know of her ? She seems deserving ; I could stake 
my best hopes upon it. Yet it is strange — so refined 
and lady-like, and yet so friendless. It looks doubt- 
ful. Still, I should not harbor suspicions without 
proof. The innocent sufier far more than the- guilty. 
Yes, and I will befriend you, poor lonely one, come 
what may, until I know you unworthy.” 

What sublime pity was on the manly face ! What 
earnest benevolence in the expressive eyes ! Theodore 
Kaymond was a man out of a thousand. Young, 
handsome, intelligent, possessing a deep and thorough 
knowledge of the world, and yet charitable and gene- 
rous in both heart and action. 

When consciousness returned, Ora found herself in 
a small, but comfortable apartment, with Mr. Eaymond 
bending over her, chafing her face and hands with 
aromatic vinegar. As soon as she could realize her 
position she began to feel deeply embarrassed. The 
blood flowed in crimson waves to her forehead, and 
she attempted to rise from the couch where he had 
laid her. He gently forced her back, however, and 
arranged the pillows under her head. 

“ Lie still,” he said, with some firmness and a little 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


239 


show of authority. “You are too weak to rise. 
Presently you will feel better, then I will leave you.” 

She could not defy his command, and lay still as 
he bade her, while he continued to bathe her temples, 
liis hands felt very soft, and his touch was skillful as 
a woman’s. Ora wondered how a young man like 
himself could have learned such offices. 

“You feel better, now?” he asked gravel}^, after 
awhile. 

“Yes, thank you, much better. You are too kind 
to me.” 

“ N’o, I am not. Did not duty require it, interest 
would. I have brought you where 3’our services will 
be required, as I have told you before. When you are 
better, you will find a patient who may need you day 
and night. I do not intend to tax you too heavily, for 
you are very far from strong. For a while, I will 
myself share your duties. Till you grow more able 
to perform your task, I will take the night watches, 
and you shall rest. Meantime, a faithful servant will 
supply all your wants. You will have only to follow 
directions. IS’ow go to sleep if you can. After awhile 
I will send you some tea. You will not see your 
patient till to-morrow. Keep quiet till you are wanted. 
Good afternoon.” 

Tie w’ent to the window and closed the shutters, 
excluding the light, then left the room quietly. 

But Ora could not sleep. Thought was too busy 
with the changing events in her strange life. About 
six o’clock, a servant woman brought a tray into the 
room with her tea. She spoke very gently to her, and 
seemed anxious to make her comfortable. After she 


240 


ORA,' THE LOST. WIFE. 


had swallowed a few mouthfuls, she dismissed her, and 
fell once more into reflections, that grew more and 
more perplexing and painful, as she continued to 
think. 

How strangely things seemed turning about. She 
was like a straw upon the great ocean, drifting whence- 
the winds might blow, and helpless to turn any way 
of herself. Again, as she had done hundreds of times 
before, she retraced all of her past life, coming back 
from the painful past to the dreary present, and won- 
dering how it was all to end. 

It was midnight ere the aching brain found rest in 
natural sleep. 

To her intense surprise. Ora found upon waking 
the following morning, a change of apparel spread out 
upon a chair by the bedside. The dress was of black 
stuff, rich and fine, but not entirely new. There was 
a set of plain linen cuffs and a collar, with soft slippers 
and new white stockings. The dress did not fit her 
exactly; the waist was a little too short, and the arms 
bound her slightly. Still, the fit was not so bad as to 
be noticeable, and when she arrayed herself, she looked 
once more her own neat personage. Brushing the 
heavy bands of hair away from her forehead, she 
rolled the shining mass in a heav}^ coil at the back 
of her head, and then sat down to await what was to 
come. 

She did not have to wait long. In half an hour 
from the time she rose, a light tap came upon her door, 
and Mr. Raymond catne in. His look was very kind 
and his manner pleasant as he came forward and bade 
her “ good morning” in his quiet, grave way. 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


241 


hope you feel better,” he said. 

‘‘ Better than I have felt in a long time,” she replied. 

I shall bo quite rested soon.” 

“I trust so. Would you like to be introduced to 
your patient?” 

“'if you please.” 

“Follow me then. This way.” 

lie went out into a wide hall, and continued along 
it lor a short space, pausing at length before a door 
on the opposite side, which he pushed lightly open, 
and entered. The floor was richly carpeted, yielding 
no echo to the foot that pressed upon it. The windows 
W’ere heavily draped with lace and damask, and nearlj^ 
every ray of light excluded. It was several moments 
ere her eyes became sufficiently accustomed to the 
gloom to distinguish the slight form resting upon the 
bed in one corner. Then she became conscious that a 
pair of brilliant eyes regarded her intently. 

“ Ellen,” said Mr. Eayiaond, softly, “ here is your 
new nurse. She will be very kind to you I know.” 

Ora advanced and clasped a little burning hand. 
The invalid’s cheeks were crimsoned with a hectic 
flush, and her eyes wandering. When she spoke, it 
was in quick, rapid whispers. 

“IIow good you are, Theodore. What could I do 
without you ? You remember everything. Oh, when 
shall I ever be able to repay your love ?” 

“Hush! you must not talk! FTow I am going to 
leave you with Nurse until I can do a few errands. I 
will be back before the doctor comes to see you. Will 
you keep quiet like a dear good girl till I return ?” 

“You wont stay long, will you, Theodore?” 

21 


242 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


“ No, darling. Only a little while.” 

“ Well, you must go then. But do hasten back. I 
feel as if I should die without you. All others have 
cast me off, while you are still good and kind. What 
wonder if I cling to you ? Dear Theodore !” 

Both little hands were tightly folded over his, as he 
stooped to kiss her tenderly. When he turned from 
the bed, Ora saw that his eyes were humid with 
unshed tears. 

“Keep her quiet,” he said. “ I shall be here again 
soon. Do not talk, or let her talk, if you can help it. 
Whatever she may say, however, you are not to mind. 
She is — ” 

He did not finish the sentence, but laid one finger 
expressively over his temple. Ora’s heart throbbed 
tumultuously. “Poor girl ! she is more afflicted than 
me,” she thought. “I at least have reason left me, if 
all else is gone.” 

The sick girl turned her face to the wall, and Ora 
sat quietly down beside her. It was a very luxurious 
apartment in which she found herself, and everything 
seemed to indicate wealth and comfort. Yet she was 
at a loss to conjecture the relations between Mr. Eay- 
mond and this girl for whom she had been called to 
render her services. She could not be his wife. She 
felt rather than knew that she did not hold that rela- 
tion. More, she knew that there was a deep mystery 
connected with the two, and to fathom that mystery 
she had no right. It might be one in which she would 
find cause to regret connection, could it be unravelled. 
There might be sin and shame at the bottom, and she 
would come in for a share of censure, were it disco v- 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


243 


ered. Still she could but conjecture, and it was 
unkind and ungenerous to let those conjectures run 
too hastily towards harsh conclusions. Had slie 
never suflered from misconstruction, that she should 
wrong others upon what simply appeared strange? 
She resolved to think generously of those with whom 
she thus found herself unexpectedly connected, and 
leave the issue to the future and the Power that 
ruled. 

The patient was restless, and burning with fever. 
Ora bathed her face and hands repeatedly, watching 
with tender pity and sympathy over the sufferer whose 
cries sometimes filled the room. 

At last Mr. Kaymond came back, and entered the 
chamber looking fiushed and heated. He had been 
I, gone three hours. Now he assumed a place upon the 
couch, and taking the girl’s hot hand, tried to soothe 
her. His voice calmed her almost immediately, and 
she sank down among the pillows like a tired child 
and soon fell asleep. 

“Go to your room, bathe your face, get some 
refreshment, and rest an hour,” said Mr. Eaymond, 
turning to Ora. “I will watch her.” 

“But I do not wish to leave you. You are tired, 

j and need rest yourself. Let me stay while she sleeps, 

[ and you take the rest you need more than I.” 

' “ Go,” he answered simply, and she dared not 

! disobey. His voice was not harsh or unkind, bu^ 
; very determined. It was evident that his will musfl 
! not be opposed or questioned. He exacted simple 
[ obedience, without hesitation. That rendered him^ 

I all would go smooth. Ora rightly imagined, how- 

i 

i 


244 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


ever, that with all his gentleness and benevulence, Mr. 
Kajmond had a rough phase in his character it might 
be dangerous to handle. She wisely resolve^d to be 
on her guard and do as she was bidden. 

A few minutes later, while she sat in her own room, 
she heard the door bell ring. Mr. Raymond came 
out and opened it himself, letting the visitor in and 
leading him toward the sick chamber. 

“The doctor,” thought Ora. “I wonder if he is 
kind and skilful. He must be, though, or Mr. Ray- 
mond would not have him.” 

Fifteen minutes passed before he went away. The 
young man accompanied him to the door and then 
returned quietly as before. For sometime all was 
still. The hour passed, and then Ora went back to 
the sick room. 

“ You have not slept,” said Mr. Raymond, as she 
seated herself near the bed. 

“ Ko, but I am rested. Will not you retire now?” 

“Yes, I am going out again,” he said softly, as if 
fearful of disturbing the invalid’s slumber. “ I shall 
trust you to look after Ellen till half-past ten to-night. 
Then I will relieve you, and you can rest till eight 
to-morrow morning. Meantime, you are to give these 
powders in the blue paper, every hour ; one spoonful 
of the mixture in this phial every two hours. You 
will not leave her a moment. The girl will bring 
bour meals at the proper time, which you can eat from 
That table, where you can see or hear every action or 
sound. Keep perfectly quiet. The doctor wishes this 
sleep to continue undisturbed several hours. He has 
given her a strong potion for that purpose. Docs it 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 245 

seem too lon<2; to wait for me ? Can you watch so 
long?” 

‘^Oh, yes. Do not think of me.” 

“ You understand perfectly all you are to do?” 

“ Perfectly. The powders every hour — the mixture 
every two hours. I am to keep very quiet and not 
leave her.” 

Right. You are as precise as I could wish. I 
trust you. Till half-past ten good bye.” 
i Good bye, sir.” 

He went out softl3\ Through the long still hours 
Ora sat patientlj’. This emplojunent was no tax upon 
mind or energy. Every physical want was supplied. 
She did not have to rack her brain in devising ways 
and means, and the q:;iet of the darkened chamber 
was peculiarly soothing to her feelings. It was what 
she needed most, and the necessary attention given to 
the invalid, served in a measure to divert her thoughts 
from personal subjects. 

She could not have found a place better suited to 
her in her present state. It was a haven of rest. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


A WEEK had passed away, and Ora Meredith knew 
no more of her patient than on the day she entered 
the house. The fever was gone, now, and she lay 
pale and weak, the very shadow of herself, it would 
seem, she was so wan and frail. She was, withal, a 
beautiful being, and very sweet and patient. Ora had 
learned to regard her with a steady affection for her 
gentle sweetness after reason returned. It may readily 
be supposed that her interest increased day after day. 
But it was a pain to rest under the cloud of mystery 
enfolding so fair a creature. It was not curiosity 
alone that made her long to know who and what she 
was, and how she had been placed in such a singular 
position ; but an earnest wish to justify her in her owm 
mind. 

In all this time no living soul except the doctor had 
entered the house. The one servant attended all 
domestic duties, and Mr. Raymond shared the vigils 
by the bedside of the sufferer. 

Everything was strange and mysterious. She had 
never even seen the doctor. Mr. Raymond always 
sent her to her own room at the hours he made his 
visits, and remained alone with him until he took his 
leave. This had become a regular routine. The 
doctor came at half-past ten night and morning. At 
these hours Mr. Raymond was always there. At nine 
( 246 ) 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


247 


o’clock in the evening, he invariably dismissed Ora 
to her room, and called her at six, requiring her to 
remain in the sick room till ten. Then she had an 
hour’s rest. After that she was on duty again till 
nine. Mr. Raymond always watched through the 
night alone. 

On the morning of the sixth day, the sick girl was 
sleeping soundly, and in a healthful, natural repose. 
Mr. Raymond had come in and looked at her with 
glistening eyes, then sat down and drawing a paper 
from his pocket, began to read. 

After awhile, he threw it down restlessly. He was 
doubtless ill at ease. Ora thought he looked much 
more worn and haggard than she had ever seen him. 
The long watching was beginning to tell upon his 
strength. Her eyes were fixed intently upon his face 
with these thoughts, when his glance encountered hers. 
He smiled slightly, and she felt the color rising to her 
cheeks. 

“ ISTurse,” he said, ignoring the cause of her confu- 
sion, ‘‘ do you know that you have been here a whole 
week, and never told me your name ?” 

“ You did not ask me !” 

“ True. May I atone for my carelessness by asking 
it now ?” 

“ Yes. My name is Meredith.” 

Was the little girl you buried your only child ?” 

‘‘Yes, the last kindred tie. I am utterly alone 
now.” 

For a moment he dropped his brow upon his hand, 
suffering it to rest there. He was buried deeply in 
thought. Then he lifted his head and said abruptly: 


248 


0 11 A , THE LOST WIFE. 


‘‘ You are a singular woman, Mrs. Mereditli.” 

Slie started in surprise. 

“Why?” 

“ Y^ou are unlike others. I cannot conceive of a 
single being who could come here as you have done 
and watch faithfully by a stranger, and never ask a 
single question. Yet I can see you are far from 
indifferent. Y^ou have a good deal of self-respect, 
and would like to know with whom your lot has been 
cast. Is it nof so? Why don’t you ask me ques- 
tions ?” 

“ I do not feel at liberty.” 

“Whv not?” 

%/ 

“ If you wish me to know anything about yourself 
and this lady, you will tell mo of your own free will.” 

“ Y^ou have both patience and discretion; I suppose 
while you practice this rule, you wish others to observe 
the same toward you ?” 

‘‘‘ Most ccrtainlv.” 

«/ 

“So I supposed. But if I were less thoughtful 
and generous than yourself, and asked you questions?” 

“ I should beg you to excuse my answering them.” 

“Ah! you would not tell me about yourself! 
Suppose I demanded it, having placed one of the 
dearest charges the earth contains in your hands 

“ Y^ou would scarcely find such a course necessaty 
now. I should have granted you the right to ask me 
anything you chose, in the beginning, and left you to 
decide upon eni[)loying me or not, according to the 
opinion you formed of me. But you took me blindly, 
and have so lar seemed satisfied with my efforts.” 

“True. Y^ou are the quintessence of obedience. 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


249 


But wliile 3'0ii have watched and glided about so softly 
in this sick room, I have grown interested. Come, 
ask me some questions. Let me tell yon something, 
so that I may have a fair right to some of your couli- 
dence. I will be biir with you. Begin.” 

“ I have no questions to ask.” 

“And you do not wish to be asked any?” 

“ A"o.” 


“ Frank and square. ^But I am not satisfied. Do 
you have no desire to know who that poor child lying 
there, is, in whom I have taken such interest?” 

‘•Yes, a strong desire.” 

“ Then why did you not ask me ?” 

“ I thought you would tell me when you wished me 
to know.” 

“ Have you not mistrusted sometimes, that there 
might be an unpleasant mystery connected with 


“ I cojB^ss I have had some misgivings. But I have 
no right to judge unknown actions, or evils that may 
not exist. I only seek to serve you. God must judge 
if you are right or wrong.” 

He sighed heavily. “He will judge me,” he 
mu»ured, “ and He will judge others bitterly.” Then 
he a(^l^ aloud : 

“I wi^i I could know all that you have thought in 
the past wcek.^ You are quiet. You say very little. 
But you are not unobservant, and your brain works 
all the more rapidly, \yhile ye?fr tongue is still. Tell 
me what you hav.c 4 h<«>fl^hf:”'**^ 

“ That is impossible. I have thought of too many 
things to go into detail.! 



250 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


‘‘ Then give me the general course, and let details 
alone.” 

“Excuse me. I had rather not.” 

“ I see, I am throwing away words vainly,” he said, 
rising and softly pacing the room. His face was a 
puzzle now. Ora could not tell whether he was 
quizzing her, or had some other motive than mere 
amusement in the course he was pursuing. His face 
was grave, and wore, still, a dissatisfied expression 
about the mouth and eyes. He returned to the ground 
he had first entered upon. 

“You know me ?” 

“ Yes sir, I know your name, and also that your 
father is a minister. Ho more.” 

“Whom do you suppose that girl to be?” pointing 
to the bed. 

Ora shook her head. 

“Would you like to know very much?” 

“Hot if you have a motive in keeping the relation 
concealed.” 

“ You have surmised whom she might be. Do you 
suppose she is my wife?” 

“Ho.” Tone and manner were positive. 

“Who, then?” 

Again she shook her head. 

“ You are a hard customer,” he said, half laughing, 
“but I think a very safe one. You will neither 
advance or quit an inch without seeing your way. I 
have quietly contented mj^self with observing you. I 
expected after the strangeness wore off, to have you 
shower questions upon me, and had prepared to stop 
you suddenly. You have disappointed me, and out 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 251 

of disappointment interest has sprung up. Perhaps 
curiosity were a better word, though I dare say you 
would resent it if I applied it to you. I have never 
seen a woman who could be placed in so important a 
position before, without asking questions. You have 
been surrounded by mystery, and yet never sought to 
fathom it out. I can’t understand you. I want to 
know more about you. Tell me.” 

His manner put Ora at ease. She would not gratify 
him for many rea-sons. 

“ You give me the credit for generous forbearance,” 
she answered, “ and acquit me of curiosity where 
you are concerned. Can you not reward it by like 
forbearance ?” 

“ But I am willing to answer any of your questions. 
Ask me all you wish.” 

I do not want to ask any.” 

“ Because that would give me a right to question 
you?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then I suppose we must both stumble on still in 
the dark. I have no idea of one-sided favors. I am 
'oery curious about you. You are no ordinary woman. 
You are educated, refined, and possess pride to an 
intense degree. You are sensitive, too sensitive for 
rude or humble associations. Yet it puzzles me ex- 
ceedingly to guess how you, with your mind, personal 
appearance, general accomplishments and feelings, 
could have been reduced to the pitiful extremity in 
which I found you.” 

Tins was becoming painful in the extreme. Ora 
shrank from such close pressing upon still sore wounds. 


252 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


“You are becoming cruel,” she said tremulously 
‘‘ Misfortunes pressed upon me too heavily for my 
strength. It was no fault that brought me so low.” 

“ Forgive me,” he begged frankly. “ I do not mean 
to hi unkind or unreasonable. I believe I am in a 
singular mood this morning. I suppose it arises from 
the fact that I have just had a nice dish of scandal to 
discuss at breakfast, fresh from the generous hand of 
a scandal-loving public.” 

“ Of what nature ? As it comes through the public, 
of course it is not of a private nature,” said Ora, only 
half interested in what he might have found to amuse 
him, and set him into so teasing and disagreeable a 
mood. 

A moment’s dreamy pause ; then he answered. 
“Ko; nothing private; still, it touches me, because 
some one I know is mixed up in it. Karnes are not 
given, so I will not take license the newspapers 
forbear to take. That would be unkind. It is this. 
A young man, of not very proper habits, I must 
confess, has for sometime been engaged to a young 
lady of this city. She is a physician’s daughter, and 
stands high in the social world. He stands high, 
also, but his most intimate friends know him to be 
wild — or rather l^new him to be wild. Since a recent 
absence, he has been carrying on a deep game, and 
kept dark as possible. People began to look on him 
as a wondrous example of reformation. 

“ I believe everything run smoothly for a time. 
What it was that wrought the change, is not known. 
But lately the match was broken off, and the brother 
of the girl flew out most furiously in search of the 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 253 

miscreant lover, determined to wreak vengeance on 
him for whatever crime he may have committed. The 
gentleman was not to be found, however. Probably, 
expecting a storm, he betook himself to shelter in 
time — he and a bosom triend of his, and were not 
discovered till yesterday. Here, now, is a choice morsel 
for the romantically inclined. This blessed young 
scamp is found concealed in an old rickety house some 
distance from town, where poor mortals who happen 
to be in the way of others, have been snapped up and 
safely caged away on a plea of madness. Splendid 
institutions these, for a favored land like ours I 

Ora shuddered. 

‘‘You cannot mean that such places exist here?” 
she said. 

“Yes, here as elsewhere. This place was kept by 
an old fiend — a Janvrin, or Jarvis, or something of 
that sort. A number of poor wretches, goaded to the 
verge of madness, were found there. The man was 
imprisoned. The captives liberated and placed in 
proper hands. Amongst them, a woman, this self- 
same sometime lover is said to have placed there. 
Wh}^, it is not known. Some whisper that she was 
his wife, and it may be so, for from the course things 
have taken, I presume nothing short of such villainy 
could have brought on the issue we have now to 
contemplate. To make a long story short, the brother 
and the lover met in mortal combat. Contrary to the 
usual rule, the right one fell — the lover was vanquished. 
He did not live three hours after the encounter, and 
the victor made good his escape until the affair shall 
have been hushed up. I am glad of it. I glory in 


254 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


the boy'’s spunk. Had it been my sister, I should wipe 
out any insult offered her with blood, as he did.” 

A baleful light flashed from his eyes as he spoke, 
and for an instant their glance rested upon the invalid. 
Ora saw both, and a ray of intelligence penetrated 
her mind for the flrst time. Why had she never 
thought of it before ? But then, why should they be 
alone, and so apparently friendless ? All was dark 
as before, after a moment’s thought. She did not 
attempt to clear up the mystery. Her mind was too 
much absorbed with thoughts to which Mr. Baymond’s 
story had given rise. There wxre strange evidences 
that thrilled her through with conjecture. She 
scarcely dared put the questions that crowded to her 
lips ; yet she could not rest in the suspense of uncer- 
tainty. She must satisfy herself. 

“And the lady — is nothing said of her further?” 
she ventured, turning her face away to hide the interest 
she felt, and feared he might notice. 

“Hothing.” 

“ Was she an only daughter ?” 

“ Ho, there is another, a young girl of twelve. I 
think, also, there are two wards, a niece and an 
adopted child. The son was an only son, and like his 
father, a physician, bidding fair to rise to eminence, if 1 
mistake not. Curse these meddlers, who are never 
happy out of mischief! Honorable shooting was too 
good for the fellow. He ought to have been hung like 
a dog. A murderer of peace and honor is worse than 
he who takes life. I had 'rather have a sister of mine 
die, than to stand in her place — the theme of every gos- 
siping tongue! Yet she, poor girl, is good and inno- 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 255 

cent. Once, tlioir home circle was an eden. I never 
remember to have seen one more perfect. What must 
it be to-day! God 1 It exasperates me to think of it !” 

How fierce and bitter his tone was I How tightly 
his hand clenched as he spoke. Had he cause for 
such depth of feeling on such a subject ? Looking 
up, he caught a glimpse of Ora’s white lips, and eyes 
wild as if in afifright. He was struck dumb. 

“ How easily you are frightened,” he said, more 
calmly. “ I thought you had more nerve than to be 
so startled at a little burst of indignation. Madame 
Nurse, go to your room and keep quiet until I call 
you. Mind that you get some better color in your 
face, too, before I want you.” 

Without waiting further permission. Ora rose and 
left the room. She was glad to escape his keen 
glance, just then, for her thoughts were in a whirl, 
her heart throbbing as though it would burst. She 
could not doubt that she understood the whole story. 
Had she done so, the paper she had snatched up from 
the hall table had set all doubt at rest. There were 
the initials of all the names, though as Mr. Kaymond 
had said, the names were withheld. They were plain 
enough to her, and her heart grew sick with its weight 
of excitement. Bartoni dead I Harry Clifton a 
fugitive 1 Lina a broken-hearted girl — an anxious 
sister 1 What a wreck of a happy circle, truly I 
Raymond w^as right. None had been brighter, and 
, now what was it? And he — that man who had been 
her bane, had proved theirs’ also 1 Something of 
Theodore Raymond’s bitter spirit was stirred within 
her. Such a death xoas too good for him ! 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


The soft haze of a summer twilight was upon the 
earth, and its deeper shadows were creeping slowly 
into the sick chamber. Calmness reigned throughout 
the house. All things seemed lulled to repose 
about it. The invalid slept. Since becoming conva- 
lescent, she had slept more than half the time, and 
her guardian grew more quiet and less anxious day 
after day. 

Another week had passed. Since the morning he 
had imparted the news of Bartoni’s death, he had 
scarcely spoken to her, except to give brief, short 
orders. He questioned her no more. His visits now 
were as frequent, but of shorter duration. Once he 
had said that his time was very much occupied, and 
after that, vouchsafed nothing further. 

On this evening, he came much earlier than usual, 
and sat talking cheerfully to the invalid till she fell 
asleep. Then he drew a chair into the piazza in the 
rear of the building, and sat sometime with his 
cigar, enjoying the breeze and the repose of things 
about him. 

Presently he put his head inside the door and 
called softly : 

“ Nurse, bring a chair out here.” 

Rising from the window where she had been 
sitting, she obeyed. As she stepped upon the piazza, 
( 256 ) 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 257 

he took the cliair from her hand and carried it to the 
further end. 

There, sit down.” 

She hesitated. 

“ Is it safe to leave our patient alone ?” 

“ Quite. Else I should not ask you. I want you 
to myself a little while. 

She did not like his tone ; nevertheless she sat down 
and suffered him to place himself near her.” 

“ I want you,” he began, “ that I may express my 
sense of obligation for the care you have bestowed 
upon that poor girl in there. You little know what 
she has suffered. Did you, your kind heart would 
break. I thought 1 should go mad sometimes. You 
have been so faithful, I feel deeply your debtor. I 
know I have said little, but I have seen and felt it 
none the less. Will you consent to remain her 
friend and companion, as long as I may wish ?” 

“ I will remain as long as she needs me.” 

“ And suppose I should wish to take her away 
from here ? W ould you travel with her — ^go wherever 
she went, and be everything to her — her true and 
staunch friend through all things ?” 

Ora hesitated in painful embarrassment. How 
could she promise this without a greater knowledge 
of the girl she was requested to call her friend — to 
be ever near her, stand in the light of companion 
and most intimate associate ? 

“ I would, if I could feel assured — ” , 

Here she broke down. She could not finish such a 
sentence to him. A hot flush mounted to her cheeks, 
and she was silent. 


22 


258 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


“Of what? Of your competency? Never fear. 
I would trust you with the most precious one on 
earth. I want change for her, and think of sending 
her to Newport, or Saratoga for a few weeks. As 
soon as she can travel, I must send her. You can 
take her there. There is no one else I could trust to 
do it, and I dare not follow you for a week. You 
will be very quiet, of course. Will be seen very 
little. I shall send her there for her health, not 
society. Poor thing, she will not want that nowP 

He bent his head upon his hands, and sat silent 
for some minutes. Ora remained quiet, but her 
mind was in a state of fearful indecision. She wanted 
to ask him about her history, but remembering the 
conversation of a week previous, she dared not do 
it. He relieved her at length. 

“ I have not dealt altogether fairly with you, Mrs. 
Meredith. I ought to have told you something 
delinite about our position. I saw that you were 
perplexed, and I enjoyed it too much to break the 
charm. I had a desire to see how long you could 
bear the uncertainty without questioning me. I tried 
an exchange of confidence once, but failed. I intended 
to have satisfied you then, but your reticence deterred 
me. It shall do so no longer. You are at liberty 
to keep your secrets. I need you — am satisfied that 
you will do all I wish you to do. I know you a fit com- 
panion for my sister, and could wish for no better.” 

His eyes strove to penetrate the dusk, to catch 
the expression of her face, but could not. He felt 
her little start, however. She felt as if a w’eight had 
rolled from her heart. 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 259 

“ Your sister !” she exclaimed after a moment’s 
silence. 

“ Yes, my sister. Child, did you not guess it ?” 

“ I have thought so, sometimes. Still, I could not 
understand how she could he that, and no others near 
her. Where are your parents, and why do you alone 
care for her while she has been in such suffering and 
danger ?” 

“Ay, why? It is a pitiful story, my little friend, 
— you are my friend, are you not ? — and I can give it 
you in a few words. My father is a hard, stern man. 
We two are his only children. She married early, 
and against his will. She is, unfortunately, self* 
willed to a high degree. She would listen to no one. 
Her father discarded her, and six months -after her 
ill-starred marriage, her villainous husband deserted 
her amongst strangers. The agony of the heartless 
act, made her ill. She wrote me, begging for aid in 
her distress. In the impulse of the moment, I took 
the letter to my father, and tried to intercede for her. 
I begged that I might bring her home again, poor, 
repentant sufferer! He ilew in a most terrible 
passion, declared that she should not come to his 
house again. She had found the fruits of her actions 
bitter, but she must eat them. I tried to reason with 
him, reminded him of his duty as a father and a 
professed Christian — he grew worse than ever. 
Forbade the mention of her name, and bade me seek 
her out, and aid her at the peril of being, like her, 
cast from his home and heart. I am his heir, 
dependent upon him for all I have. He gave me no 
profession. A poor, pitiful creature I should be, cast 


2G0 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

adrift. I was tempted at first to brave liim, for my 
beautiful sister was my idol. I could not bear to 
think of her in such distress. But I knew my father 
well. Had I done so, I should have been cast ofi" 
penniless, without a ray of hope for the future. In 
such a position, I could place my sister in but little 
better circumstances than she was then. It takes 
time and labor to gain anything. Meantime, she 
might die. I dropped the subject then and we have 
not spoken her name in his house since. But I would 
not let her die. I had her secretly brought here, 
and all that money could provide, has been given 
her, all that kindness could do has been done. If I 
daily deceive them at home, it is not as black as the 
sin of her banishment. After all, I do not deceive 
them. They ask me no questions, I have nothing to 
answer. I pass my time as I like, and make use of 
iny liberty and my money to save her. And I will 
do it. Poor Ellen ! I do not think my mother would 
be harsh, only for my father. Every soul in his 
house is his slave, myself excepted. She dare not 
thinks except of him and his will. Therefore she is 
helpless. I will not harass lier with the knowledge 
of this state of affairs. She is ignorant. I will let 
her remain so. As for my father, the day may come 
when God will soften his lieart to a spark of 
humanity.” 

Ora’s lieart was full of bitter pain. 

‘‘Sufiering — nothing but suffering everywhere! 
The earth was full of it. Where could she turn, and 
find it not? No where, this side the grave.” 

“ Now,” he continued, “ you understand our rela- 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 261 

tion and position. You see why I must act carefully. 
It is more for her sake than my own. If I cause a 
breach, both of us are hopelessly set adrift. Can I 
but get along smoothly, I shall have enough for the 
comfort of both, and I will see that my sister has 
her full share. Am I right ? Can you condemn my 
course 

“No. You are justified, knowing the ground on 
which you stand. I admire your earnest devotion to 
your poor sister, beyond expression. Could you 
have the heart to abandon her to the cold world in 
sickness and poverty? You are right in all you 
have done.” 

“ I knew you would say so. I could not do other- 
wise. It would be foolish to recklessly cast away 
the means of helping her by braving my father. But 
it would be damnable to desert her, and selfishly revel 
in her portion while she starved. God! to think 
of it!” 

He was strangely excitable at times, and these 
exclamations seemed much at variance with liis 
general manner. He was not profane. A deep 
under current of religious sentiment ran through his 
nature. But he did not evince it in his father’s way. 
It proved itself in daily practice of good and generous 
works. He assunied nothing. Sincere, generous 
and charitable, he never refused aid to the suficring. 
If there was a blemish in the character of Theodore 
Kaymond, it consisted in the deep bitterness to which 
his father’s injustice gave rise. It was contempt and 
disdain for small, pitiful deeds, while wearing the 
outward garb of one who “ walks with God.” The 


2G2 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

elder Eaymond, a hard, cruel, and at heart unfeeling 
man, was an object of contempt to his child — almost 
of hatred. 

This is hardly to be called unnatural, reader. 
From infancy, he had known him but as a tyrant. 
Before the world he saw him stand as one chosen 
of the Lord.” In the home circle, he knew him guilty 
of deeds, any generous, upright man would shun as 
a pestilence, and he knew him for a hypocrite. To 
one just and high principled as Theodore, such 
characters could but be repugnant, even though of 
his own flesh and blood. 

“ I dare say you think very strangely of me,” he 
remarked to Mrs. Meredith after awhile. “ I ouirht 
to beg your pardon for my vehemence. But it half 
maddens me sometimes. I am forced into a position 
most painful, for one of my feelings. Were I alone 
interested, I should not fear to launch boldly upon 
the tide, and steer my course alone amongst life’s 
breakers. I have thought often, that I would prefer 
it. But to do this would not save my poor sister, 
and it would certainly break my mother’s heart. I 
have no right to disregard her happiness. Her 
trials are heavy, already, poor mother! What a 
troublesome world we live in,” he sighed out at the 
close. 

“ Yes, I have found it so.” 

Ora answered the exclamation half dreamily ; but 
there was a thrill of sadness in her tone which made 
lier listener cast another piercing glance toward her 
face. It was veiled so deeply, however, that the 
expression was lost in darkness. 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 263 

“ Come into the house,” said he rising abruptly. 
“ It is too damp for you out here. You will be taking 
cold.” 

Ora rose and followed him, wondering at the 
apparent inconsistencies of the young man’s charac- 
ter. He was growing more and more authoritative, 
and even brusque, as he began to know her, or rather 
get used to her. Yet she knew him at heart kind 
and gentle as a woman. She had seen him so in his 
manner. If this was assumed, for what purpose was 
it? It puzzled her to conjecture. 

On this evening, Mr. Raymond went away earlier 
than usual, even as he had come. And also, after a 
long conversation with Ellen, who woke before he 
left, took leave of the nurse in a new style. He 
called her out as he went, on pretence of giving 
some orders concerning his sister. When at the door, 
he paused and stood on the steps several minutes. 
The moon had risen, and fell in a broad glare over 
the front of the building. His bared head was lifted 
proudly — his white brow bathed in the silvery beams. 
Ora thought he looked very noble and handsome as 
he stood there, his eyes fixed upon the shining 
constellations above. 

“ I think you need not sit up, to-night, Mrs. Mere- 
dith,” he said, at length, turning to her. “ Ellen is 
so much better that the girl’s attendance will be all 
she wants. I must guard your health in order to 
keep you. If I allow you to wear yourself out, then 
we might lose you. After this I must not stay. I 
would, if necessary, but it is not, since the danger is 
past, and it is important for me to be at home. 


'2G4 OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 

Father begins already to show signs of displeasure 
at my actions, though he seldom interferes with me 
in anyway. I must be guarded. Will you retire 
early tind leave the girl to attend Ellen 

“ Certainly not.” 

“ No ? Why, pray ?” 

“ Because it would not be right. She may be out 
of danger ; still it is my duty to be near her while 
still so weak and ill. She is helpless, as yet.” 

But you may get sick.” 

“ 1 do not fear it, and I hope I am not so selfish as 
to shun my duty on so slight a pretext. I do not 
love ease quite so well as that.” 

‘‘ Hush I who thought of such a thing !” 

His tone was almost contemptuous, but he looked 
pleased. Then he said in a voice very different from 
the first, it was so gentle and earnest : 

“ You are kind. My sister will one day be your 
staunch friend. Perhaps you may need her, too. I 
imagine you have few enough. You may count me 
one, however, always, if I may claim the title. 
May I?” 

“You are too good,” was the tremulous response. 
A chord of feeling vibrated to the earnest, manly 
sympathy of his tone. 

“ I shall feel glad to know you such, most assured- 
ly." 

She had only uttered frankly what she felt. 

“ Thank you. Now, my little Nurse, I must leave 
you. Have Jane bring a cot in Ellen’s room, and do 
you rest there. I don’t like to have you sit up all 
night, as I think you intend to do.” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


265 


It will not liiirt m^.” 

It might. You are not strong.” 

“I h-ave been -well oared for, however. You 
employ me to nurse, and take all the heavy night 
watches on yourself. More than this, I am satisfied^ 
and tiiat is a great deal. Physical labor is as nothing 
to an overtaxed heart and brain,” 

“ Then your mind and heart are at rest, you would 
imply ? I am glad.” 

As near rest as a wanderer’s can be,” she answered 
sadly. “ I have lost home and friends. Still, there 
is an air of peace and security under your roof that 
is soothing. I should have died without this haven 
into which a kind Providence allowed my barque to 
drift.” 

“ Ah i you make me feel thankful. I have some- 
times wondered how you felt, but feared to ask you. 
I hope you may find it always a congenial atmosphere 
where v/e dwell. You will at least find friendly 
spirits. Now I v/ill not keep you out here. Good 
night.” 

He held out his hand and clasped her’s kindly. 
His tone and manner were almost tender. The look 
he gave at the good night ” almost meaning in its 
depth. Ora faltered out a response and hastily 
ch*sed the door. Her heart was in a strange flutter. 
Something in the change disturbed her. Yet she 
eould not have told why. He had been only kind — 
v^^ry kind. But the sharpest critic could not have 
discovered more than mere interest in his manner. 
Any one, with but humane feeling, might have acted 
the same. Yet it -disturbed her deeply. 

28 


2G6 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

Ellen’s large eyes were wide open when Ora 
entered the room. She seemed now quite indisposed 
to go to sleep again, and soon began to toss restlessly. 

‘^Oh, this is wearying work,” she moaned faintly. 
“I wonder if I shall ever learn patience to endure 
meekly all that I feel ?” 

Ora sat down near her, taking in hers both wasted 
little hands. 

“ Are you in pain, dear 

“ Yes, but not bodily. I cannot help thinking, and 
when I do, my heart and brain get on fire. Oh, Avhy 
are some people doomed to bring sorrow to all they 
love, while others — why was 1 born 

A cry like this a hundred times had forced its way 
from Ora’s lips. She had wailed out in her bitter 
agony, and cried ‘‘ why was I born ?” She could 
comprehend the feelings that gave birth to the plaint. 
She could sincerely pity the poor girl before lier, of 
whose wretched life she had heard from the lips of 
the brother. With quivering lips she stooped over 
her with a strong impulse of sympathy, clasped the 
frail form in her arms, and hushed the sobs that 
shook it, as she would a child’s. Wisely she forbore 
words. The little tempest soon spent itself. The 
tears ceased, but the poor suffering heart, pining for 
sympathy, could not carry its weary load ^lone. 

“ Theodore told you all about me,” she said at 
length, more calmly. “I once felt afraid to speak. 
The wounds in my heart are so deep, I shrink from 
baring them to mortal eyes. But sometimes I liave 
wanted my mother, and longed so wildly for hei 
bosom to pillow my head, that I have thought of 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


2G7 


taking you into my confidence — of telling you every* 
tiling, that I might have your sympathy. I thought 
you could in a measure supply her place, for I dared 
not send to her. Oh, nurse, you are a woman and 
know my sorrow — you can pity me !” 

“Pity you 1 from my soul I do I” she breathed 
earnestly, tenderly clasping her close to her bosom, 
and smoothing back the tangled tresses from the 
broad forehead. Tears were silently coursing down 
her cheeks and falling upon the pillow. “ Ah, could 
she not feel Every heart throb of pain was 
more than answered by her own. Hers was old in 
sorrow. 

“How much better for all, could I have died,” 
murmured Ellen, sadl3^ “ Now I must live an outcast 
from my father’s dwelling, bereft of his love, barred 
from my mother by his will, as effectually as though 
the grave indeed enclosed me. A burthen upon my 
brother — a curse to myself I Ah! why could I not 
die ?” 

“ Hush I this is rebellious I Your present pain 
exaggerates your view of ^rour condition. Your 
father is but human, and has human weaknesses. 
His will is not too strong to break before the tide of 
natural afiection. He may relent, and you be called 
to return t^his arms. Do you imagine that anything 
is permitted to fall upon us thus heavily, without a 
purpose in it ? Good to all may spring from this 
blow. Be patient. God is very merciful.” 

“ How can it be, when he sees us so helpless in 
His hand, and yet sends us sufferings greater than 
we can bear. Oh ! I can see no mercy in it I He 


2G8 ORA, THE LOST AV 1 F E . 

makes us weak, and then punishes us for our Avcak- 
ness I” 

Ellen ! were you less excited, you would not utter 
such words as those you have spoken I Calm your- 
self, dear. I cannot let you get so nervous. You 
will be ill again. Another time, when you are 
stronger, I will point out to you many blessings and 
mercies Avhich you overlook in ^mur present state of 
mind.” 

“ Point them out to me now. They may serve to 
calm me. I see nothing but darkness and misery — 
not one ray of merciful light. I cannot see for what 
purpose I have been created. I have known nothing 
but bitterness all my life. A brief period of infatua- 
tion dazzled me — I was intoxicated with the strange 
new joy that dawned upon me. Shut out all my life 
from the fountains of natural affection, you may 
guess how eagerly I drank of the proffered cup when 
it was held to my lips by one Avho seemed a very 
Apollo in his magnificent beauty. Ah ! how soon I 
reached the dregs ! They have tinctured every drop 
of my blood with their poison, and will eventually 
end my miserable existence by lashing it to maniac 
fury !” 

“You must not think of this so intensely. Bad it 
is, but it might have been worse. You have suffered 
the bitter pangs of disappointment— seen, as have 
many others, your idol shattered to worthless dust at 
your feet. Nevertheless, it is yours to ignore the 
past, and rise in the future to a happier existence. 
Experience comes to us in a dark and fearful guise, 
sometimes. Yet the lessons she brings, are of more 


on A, THE LOST WIFE. 


269 


than golden value. You are young yet, very young 
and fair. Health will soon return and give bloom to 
your cheek and light to your eye. You will gain 
with your strength, new hopes and aspirations. As 
you go out into the world again, you will hnd new 
scenes and occupations, and will have the advantage 
of this experience of your life to guide you over 
dangerous grounds. Every trial comes to us for 
good ; believe it and be hopeful.” 

“ Ah ! it is easy for those to speak as you do, who 
have not had their idols shattered ! their fairest 
hopes crushed and trampled beyond restoration. 
Had you ever suffered as I have, you could not talk 
to me in this strain, and so calmly !” 

A sad smile played over the features of the nurse. 
She was half tempted to tell her the story of a love 
lost — an idol shattered — of years of suffering, toil 
and disgrace, of a little head lying beneath the sod 
to-night under the pale stars, and a heart desolate 
with all this, striving hopefully to rise and send to the 
lips a word of comfort for the little being clasped in 
her arms. 

Hours elapsed ere Ellen yielded to slumber. Ora 
tried almost vainly to soothe and quiet the excited 
nerves of her patient. Eestless and feverish, she 
tossed, moaned and wailed, until a fear rose strongly 
of a relapse into the illness from which she was 
recovering. Eelief came at last. The eyes closed, 
and the panting breast heaved only to gentle respira- 
tion. Thankfully — prayerfully. Ora smoothed the 
drapery around the bed, and then laid down upon the 
couch beside the sufferer to watch till morning. 


CHAPTER XXV, 

“You have not closed your eyes since I left you,” 
was Mr. Raymond’s salutation. ‘‘ I see you are on 
a par with the whole race of womankind.” 

4 “ In what respect ?” 

“ Contrariness !” 

Ora laughed lightly, but Ellen said for her, quickly 
and eagerly: 

“ She is not contrary, brother. If she did not sleep, 
the fault was mine. I got wild and restless last night. 
I must have worried her dreadfully.” 

“ What made you restless 

‘‘You know, without the necessity of repeating,” 
she answered quietly. “ I had been thinking, while 
you were at the door, and knowing you had told her 
about it, I gave vent to my pent up feelings, and it 
was hours before she got me quiet. It has done me 
good, though. I feel better for her sympathy. I am 
glad she knows all.” 

■ “Blessed institutions after all,” said Theodore with 
a merry sm.ile. Ora looked up and questioned : 

“What?” 

“Women. Give me a woman to soothe and 
comfort.' ' They take the roughest, most jagged points 
and smooth them to things of beauty and loveliness, 
even.” 

“ IIow inconsistent you are, sir.” 

( 270 ) 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


271 


at all. I called you contrary because you 
disobeyed a particular order. Now I call you a blessed 
institution for having done what no man could have ^ 
done at such a time. Even I, her brother, could not 
have soothed her in one of those fits. She would have 
worn herself out, and to-day been at death’s door 
again, most likely. As it is, she is better than before, 
and rejoicing over womanly sympathy. Good 1” 

Ora said no more on the subject. A look similar 
to his parting look of last night, brought a troubled 
light into her eyes, which she turned her face from him 
to conceal. And yet the next moment, stealing a 
glance at his face as he sat talking to Ellen, she 
condemned herself for foolish fancies. lie had grown 
so utterly oblivious of her presence, looked so quietly 
unconscious of everything save the invalid sister under 
his care, she even began to smile at herself for being 
so silly as to feel disturbed at all. 

Yet we may not wonder that her senses were ever 
on the alert, and that she constantly scanned her path 
for the shadows lying across it. She had suffered 
enough to make her far-seeing and cautious. 

That same day, all arrangements being full 3 ^ dis- 
cussed for the proposed trip. Ora set about arranging 
the wardrobes for Ellen and herself. The formc4*’s 
was rich and ample. She should want but few 
things. In the absence of his parents, Theodore had 
gone to the room once belonging to his sister, now 
locked and forbidden premises, and taken out all he 
thought she might need — himself packing them and 
sending off the trunks by porters he brought for the 
purpose. 


272 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


For herself Ora Deeded but little. She wore simple 
black always. A short time from the beginning of 
preparations, everything was complete. 

The first of July found them installed in comfortable 
rooms at Saratoga. Theodore had written some time 
previously to engage them, and when able to travel, 
sent Ellen and Ora to take possession. She was to 
keep him advised of the patient’s progress by letter-; 
he would not follow till the first of August unless 
Ellen should grow worse. 

The rooms were large and commodious, command- 
ing a pretty view from the windows. Two bedrooms 
and a parlor finely furnished and communicating. 
Ellen looked pleased, almost happy as she surveyed 
the elegant furniture. The light shone so pleasantly 
in upon them as they sat in the parlor, and there was 
a fine piano and a guitar standing just as her own 
stood before she became a fugitive from love and home. 
How thoughtfully careful had Theodore been of his 
wilful, erring sister I Teara filled the large eyes and 
dropped over the wan cheeks, even while she smiled, 
and she exclaimed fervently : 

Oh, nurse, I feel the truth of which you have so 
often spoken, more forcibly at this moment than I 
have ever felt. God merciful, in spite of my 
unwortbiiiess. Bee what a blessing he gives me in 
my dear, kind brother ! Ob, what would become of 
me wdtliout him I” 

“God would find means of caring for you still,’’ 
was the reply. “ He who numbers the hairs of our 
heads, and ‘suffers not a sparrow to fall to the ground,’ 
will surely guard a soul He loves, and keep it for His 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 273 

own glory. Who knows how much you may yet do 
for His sake ?” 

Everything was strange about them, yet they found 
no time for loneliness. A well stored book case 
supplied them with reading matter, and Ora divided 
the hours as best suited the taste of the invalid. 
Sometimes she read aloud for her, and when she tired, 
she conversed with, or played for her. A proficient 
in music, the pleasure she gave was beyond descrip- 
tion. It needed one to catch the sweet, rich tones of 
her voice, to understand the ecstatic thrill, music can 
give. We have spoken often before of this glorious 
gift. How it was destined to prove a source of both 
pleasure and annoyance. 

It ^YSLS Ora’s delight ever, to sit at the piano in the 
evening hour, breathing softly the airs she best loved. 
Ellen was weary, and retired early. Ora could not 
go so soon, and Ellen begged her to play. Only 
snatches of song came to her lips at first. One after 
another, she skimmed lightly over for half an hour. 
But the soul of music was being stirred within her. 
Soon she took up deeper, richer strains, giving to her 
voice its full scope and power. It thrilled the night 
hour, and hushed the sounds of more discordant 
notes by oversweeping them with its mighty waves. 
One by one, strollers gathered beneath the balconies 
of their room. The couples paused in their prome- 
nades. Light vehicles were whirling by whose 
occupants seeing the groups gathered there, drew in 
reins and listened entranced, wdiile the unconscious 
songstress poured out those sublime notes that would 
have won laurels of fame for a prim a donna. Ora 


274 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

always felt, when she sung thus. She was trembling 
from excess of it now, when she rose and parting the 
curtains lightly, stood upon the balcony. A moment 
she breathed the fresh air, drinking in the beauty of 
the summer night, when suddenly her eye caught the 
dispersing crowd beneath her. She would have given 
it no second thought, perhaps, had not a murmur 
reached her ear, out of which the words came to her 
distinctly : 

‘‘A fine voice! man alive! it is superb, sublime! 
Who can it be, I wonder ? I would give the world 
for a sight of the lips from which strains like those 
can issue ! She must be beautiful ! Will she sing 
again ? Listen !” 

The voice ceased, and Ora shrank back within the 
room. To deny that she knew of whom they spoke, 
would have been affectation, and that was a quality 
she did not possess. A thrill passed through her 
heart — a thrill of pleasure. This was a gift for which 
she was fervently thankful. She was less miserable 
when she could exercise it freely. 

This was but the beginning of the excitement she 
was destined to create. Ellen loved to hear her sing, 
and she would not refuse to gratify her. Evening 
after evening, the sweet tones filled tlie room, and 
were wafted out upon the night to the ears that grouped 
round to catch the strains. 

She knew that crowds were invariably attracted 
there, but she had no fear. Ko one would dare to 
come to their apartments, and they never stirred 
from them except in a close carriage to take a 
drive. Then both were closely veiled. No danger of 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 275 

either beiug recognized, even were they not among 
strangers. 

Tliis monotonous life was becoming wearisome, 
however. Ora longed for some change. At times 
she grew so restless as to find the confinement almost 
intolerable, and one evening after Ellen fell asleep, 
ventured to descend to the Ladies’ Keception Eoom. 
She dared not go into the parlor ; that was thronged 
with gay visitors, and in her sable robes, with her 
quiet, mournful face, unattended, also, as she was, she 
would have seemed out of place. She found a serene 
pleasure, however, in looking about her; it seemed 
like a brief respite from the walls of a prison, to get 
into another part of the house. 

Through the open doors and windows, camefioating 
in gay bursts of laughter, mingled with music. A 
pair of swift hands swept the keys of the piano in the 
parlor, separated from her by a wide hall. Standing 
near the open door, she observed a hush in the murmur 
of the many voices, and then a merry little air was 
executed with great spirit. Merriment followed it. 
There was abuzz and clamor at the end, then another 
song with greater spirit still, told the effect of admira- 
tion upon the songstress. Ora thought the voice very 
clear and sweet. A fancy of familiarity made her 
steal into the hall and glance toward the piano. There 
was a group around it, but through a little parting 
she saw a dark, sparkling face wreathed in smiles. 
The shining black hair glittered in the heavy coils 
wound around the head in fantastic fashion. The 
eyes blazed and flashed ; the round cheek wore a 
carnation flush. The ruby lips parted to disclose teeth 


s 


276 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

that shone in pearl-like whiteness. There was no 
mistaking the figure or features. She had to lean 
against the wall to keep from falling, as the increasing 
throng shut out the vision. 

Her head swam, her heart ached as she turned back 
to her room. No one noticed the little slender figure 
as she glided away and up the broad stairway. Had 
they done so, they might have been startled at the 
livid hue of her face. It looked as if the hand of 
death had smitten her. 

As one in a frightful dream, she glided on to her 
room, and throwing herself upon the couch without 
undressing, turned her face to the pillow and lay still. 
Hours sped unheeded. It was near morning ere a 
stir gave signs of life to the still form. Then the 
floodgates of feeling were raised, and violent sobs 
shook her from head to foot. She wept long and 
passionately, burying her face deep in the pillows, 
lest a sound should reach Ellen’s ears, and startle her 
into questions she might not answer. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


The last of July brought Mr. Raymond. He had 
got away earlier than he expected, and brought with 
him some stirring news, especially for Ellen. 

“ Father and mother are coming on,” he said, after 
the first salutation had passed between them. 

“ Papa and mamma ! Oh, brother, what brings 
them here — what shall we do ?” 

Theodore laughed at her alarm. 

“ Well, to answer your first question, father’s health 
is giving way, and he must have change. Mother 
accompanies him, and they will make a short tour of 
all the watering places. It is easy enough for us to 
get along. The proprietor of the hotel is in my 
confidence, and you can merely keep your room the 
few days they may remain. There is no danger of 
their finding you out. I proposed preceding them by 
a day or two, to engage rooms and look about a little. 
I shall have to go with them, perhaps, from here. 
Don’t look so blank, Ellen. I can manage an excuse 
to leave them somewhere else, and rejoin you shortly.” 

‘‘ Oh, Theodore — ” 

‘‘Well, what is it, dear?” 

“ It seems so hard — ” 

“ What seems hard?” 

“Why, that my dear mother should come so near 
ijje — live under the same roof, and I dare not go to 
( 277 ) 


278 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

her — dare not see or speak to her for a moment, but 
hide myself like a criminal from her sight.” 

Ellen covered her face with her thin hands, and 
Theodore’s face showed signs of emotion he could 
not conceal. Gently drawing the little hands away, 
he kissed her wet cheek tenderly. 

“ Do not think of it, Ellen. I know it is hard, 
dear sister, but the cloud will pass. The time may 
soon come when you can go back to mother’s arms 
and heart as of old.” 

Ellen looked up quickly. A singular light was in 
her brother’s eyes. 

‘‘ What do you mean, Theodore ?” she asked half 
under her breath. Why do you say this — why do 
you look so ?” 

Cannot you think?” 

He regarded her steadily. 

“ No, brother,” but her cheek paled in spite of the 
denial. 

“ Mother has always loved and pitied you. She 
dared not show it because of his unbending will. 
Were he gone, what would hinder her acting as 
feeling dictates ?” 

“Then you think — you think — ” 

She faltered painfully. 

“ I think our father will not live long,” answered 
Theodore in a low tone, but very calmly. 

Again Ellen’s face dropped in her hands. 

“ Oh, God forgive me,” she murmured penitently. 
“Theodore, our father’s tyranny and unnatural 
hardness of heart against us, has almost made me 
hate him. Oh, I pray God forgive me !” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 279 

The brother mnde no reply. Ills knit brow told of 
dark thoughts as he sat with eyes bent upon the 
carpet. Evidently the sister’s sentiments were felt 
as deeply by himself. Whether her penitence, is not 
known. 

During this conversation Ora had withdrawn with 
a book into one of the farthest windows. Though a 
confidant in their painful position, her delicacy of 
feeling prompted her to leave them to discuss it freely, 
unrestrained by her presence. She could not leave 
the parlor. As the next best thing, she chose the 
window, and drew the curtain about her. 

The pause that followed Ellen’s last outburst was 
broken by a stifled cry from Ora’s retreat. Without 
stopping to think, Theodore rose and crossed the 
room to her side. As he drew back the curtains, she 
turned her face as far from him as possible, to hide 
its agonized expression, striving to reply calmly to 
his question, as to what had caused the exclama- 
tion. 

“ That lady startled me as she mounted that fiery 
horse. She is daring!” 

Theodore looked out with interest, accepting the 
explanation as the whole cause, and smiling at her 
fright. 

‘‘ IIow timid you women are,” he said, “ that is, as 
a general thing. This lady appears to be an excep- 
tion. By the way, she sits that animal well. He is 
of good mettle. See how he paws the ground with 
his impatient hoofs, and tosses his mane angrily to 
one side, while she sits unconscious of his wrath. 
A beautiful creature. By Jupiter ! I scarcely know 


280 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

wliicli is most magnificent — the horse or his fair young 
rider 1’^ 

Ora’s heart heaved a heavy throb of dull, stinging 
pain. Ellen, attracted by her brother’s exclamations 
of admiration, joined them at the window and stood 
looking out. 

The groom had led up a number of horses, and 
one lady was mounted. A group of gentlemen wxre 
near, equipped for mounting also, as soon as their 
ladies should be safely placed in the saddle. One 
after another they assumed them, the lady first served 
holding in the reins steadily, and patiently waiting, 
though her steed champed his bit and moved rest- 
lessly about. Her dark green habit was flowing 
gracefully about her, the white feather of her hat 
drooping softly over her crimsoned cheeks. Shining 
coils of raven black hair fell at the back of her head, 
half resting upon the white neck it adorned. The 
very embodiment of spirit and elegance she appeared, 
Theodore had eyes only for her beautjq praising her 
enthusiastically, until the whole mounted party 
wheeled and dashed away. 

Ora turned to leave the windows, but Mr. Raymond 
barred her exit. He looked laughingly in her face. 

"‘I declare, you are pale yet! Who would have 
thought you so nervous?” 

Hot, crimson waves dyed her cheeks, and.it was 
on her lips to deny that she had been frightened. A 
moment’s reflection sealed her answer, liowever. If 
not fright, he would want to know what it was that 
had paled her cheeks and dilated the pupils of her 
eye in that fashion. She could not answer him, so 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


281 


slie must let him believe her weak and timid as a 
child. The thought was galling — the more so as a 
quiet glance showed the light smile of badinage 
replaced by a half-contemptuous curl of the hand- 
some lips. Kesentment rose to her aid, then. With 
an erect head and firm step, she passed from the 
room to her own chamber. Then, for the second 
time after looking at that fair young face, she buried 
herself among the pillows of the couch and wept 
bitterly, first having turned the key of her door to 
keep out chance intruders. 

After witnessing Ora’s eidt with his slyly mischiev- 
ous glance, Theodore turned to his sister, saying 
lightly: 

“ I wonder if I really offended Mrs. Meredith ? I 
hope not. I would not like to think so, for she is a 
good, gentle creature. But tell me, Ellen, why are 
you women so afraid of animals? The sight of a 
horse or a cow frightens the life out of you.” 

“ Not quite so bad as that,” said Ellen, laughingly, 
‘‘I don’t believe Mrs. Meredith is afraid of them. I 
have heard her express fondness for animals, and 
once she told me she had been used to horseback 
exercise in her childhood,and even after she grew up 
had ridden frequently, having resided in the country 
and kept horses.” 

“ Then why did she turn so white and shake like 
an aspen when that lady mounted her ‘ mettled 
charger?’ I’m inclined to the belief that she’s a 
regular little coward. Some day I’ll try her just for 
the fun of it. By the way, would you not like a ride on 
horseback, Sis? Seriously, are you strong enough ?” 

24 


282 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

“ 0, I would like it very much, but brother, I can’t 
go.” 

“Why not?” 

“ There are several reasons. In the first place, we 
must attract no unnecessary attention.” 

“We need not. This season, equestrianism is too 
common for a quiet little party to become conspicu- 
ous. We could ride out without any one dreaming 
who you are.” 

“Well, even were that so, I have no habit — neither 
has Mrs. Meredith.” 

“ A woman’s excuse, but easily remedied. You 
can liire one.” 

“ 0 brother ! one anybody can wear for the asking ? 
No, I couldn’t do that!” 

“Why, you fastidious little puss! Why are you 
so particular ?” 

“ They would not fit us, even were they nice ?” 
returned Ellen. “ I think we will not discuss the 
matter further.” 

“ But,” urged the brother pleasantly, “ I should 
really like to take you before father and mother get 
here. Have you no tight-fitting jackets you could 
wear with a skirt ?” 

Ellen mused a moment. 

“ Yes, you managed to get hold of a portion of my 
winter wardrobe when you made that foraging expe- 
dition on my account. There is a bottle green 
waist of cloth, and a black velvet basque in my 
trunk. But of what use can they be without skirts?” 

“None, that I know. But skirts can be made. 
Where are the waists ?” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 283 

“ I will get them.” 

Ellen went into her chamber and in a few minutes 
came back with the articles in question. 

‘‘ Your dresses fit Mrs. Meredith, do they not ?” was 
his next question. 

“Yes, pretty nearly.” 

“ Then its settled ! I’ll go and buy stuff to match 
these articles in color, and the maid shall sew them 
up for you this afternoon. It will not take long, and 
you can have your ride to-morrow morning.” 

“ But, brother — ” She was not allowed to remon- 
strate, however. He siezed her little pale face in 
his hands, and holding it up, kissed the pretty lips 
heartily and ran away. Her laughing conclusion of 
the interrupted sentence followed him : 

“ I think it was a great mistake you w'^erc not a 
woman. I am sure,” she added to herself, “ you excel 
mein devising ‘ways and means.’ ” 

Theodore soon returned, followed by a boy with a 
parcel. In a very easy, matter of-fact way, he gave 
necessary orders about the making, very much to 
Ellen’s amusement, and after seeing tlie skirts fairly 
begun, sauntered off to enjoy his cigar. 

As he went out, Ellen determined to strive to 
conciliate Ora, and accordingly tapped lightly on her 
door. There was no answer. She knocked again, 
and this time hearing no reply, went away cjuite 
serious. 

“ You have done mischief, I fear,” she said 
apprehensively, as Theodore returned to prepare for 
dinner. 

“ How f ’ 


284 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


‘‘ Mi s. Meredith has not yet made her appearance, 
and refuses to answer my raps at her door.’’ 

Theodore looked half-disturbed. 

“ I am sure I don’t mean to offend her. I hope I 
have not, seriously.” 

Siipo'Lilarly enough, Ora in her quiet dignity and 
innate refinement, had won upon their feelings and 
respect, in spite of the disadvantages under which 
Mr. Raymond had found her. The thought of having 
liurt or oflended her, made both unhappy. They 
waited impatiently for her to show herself. 

She came at length, very pale, but calm and gentle 
as usual. Her manner ignored the little event of 
the morning. Had she shown in the slightest degree 
a remembrance of it, Theodore would have hastened 
to apologize and restore their usual happy flow of 
feeling and intercourse. As it was, he could not 
approach her. He saw her determined to let it pass. 
Ellen, more impulsive, broke forth regretfully : 

“ Hear Mrs. Meredith, I hope you will forget 
brother's thoughtlessness. He didn’t mean to oflend 
you. We are so sorry !” 

“Sorry, my dear? for what?” 

Ora’s eyes looked genuine surprise, as she replied 
in her soft, gentle tones, “you have nothing to 
apologize for.” 

“Except my rudeness to you this morning,” said 
Theodore, frankly. “I beg you will forgive me, Mrs. 
Meredith.” 

“ I remember nothing against you,” returned Ora. 
“I never thought of feeling offended.” 

“Then why shut yourself pertinaciously in your 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 285 

room ail daj’, and refuse all company he said 
bluntly. 

Ora’s face crimsoned. 

“In the first place, I am not well to-day, and 
something weighs upon my spirits. I was scarcely 
lit for society, and feeling it, withdrew.” 

Her look and tone silenced him. He tad no right 
to ask the cause of the weight upon her spirits. 
Having disclaimed feeling oflended with him, he 
must accept lier explanation without further words, 
but he was puzzled and dissatisfied. The feeling of 
wonder and displeasure deepened when the contem- 
plated ride was broached, and Ora protested strongly 
against it. She should be pleased to see them go, 
but she did not feel inclined to accompany them. 

“ Indeed you must go. Brother got it up chiefly 
on your account, I know,” said Ellen, earnestly. 
Opposition made both enthusiastic. She now wished 
it as much as Theodore could. Ora smiled. 

“ Why should he be anxious that I should go ? To 
see if I am afraid of horses? I am not timid.” 

“ Prove it then by going with us to-morrow,” he 
answered, glancing at her face to note its changes. 
The color again rose to her cheeks. The repugnance 
to this public airing amounted almost to pain, and 
still more and more puzzled to understand her appar- 
ently groundless opposition and varying color, he 
made the care of Ellen a necessity for her presence, 
in case she should get fatigued and faint. Seeing it 
useless to contend, she at last yielded a quiet conces- 
sion to their wishes, and with her promise to go, the 
subject dropped. 


286 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


The space of time intervening was one of per- 
plexity and anxiety to Ora. Might she not meet 
if she ventured beyond her room. Might not he be 
there, and if so, might she not come in contact with 
him ? Since the first night on which the discovery 
was made of her presence, she had been more 
careful than ever, never daring to leave her room or 
put her foot beyond the floor that contained their 
suite. The question of his presence, she would have 
given worlds to solve, but she dared not attempt it. 
With no confidant to aid her, and her fears of making 
herself known, she was completely barred from all 
means of gaining the desired information. 

Once, before that morning, she had caught a 
glimpse of the lady of the green habit, and her mind 
had been distracted by the questions that rose. She 
must not put herself forward to see — she dared not 
trust herself to meet her and ascertain who was with 
her, or anything more concerning her, than the simple 
fact that she was there — evidently a favored, courted 
belle. If he was near, he kept himself closely 
secluded, yet she rather inclined to the belief that he 
was not with her. Would he come? Where was he 
now? Would Fate, strange, capricious and cruel, 
cross their paths once more ! She clasped her hands 
in agony. ‘‘ Oh ! Heaven forbid ! spare me this 
last trial !” 


CHAPTER XXVIL 


The morning chosen for the riding excursion 
dawned bright and clear. The fresh air was redolent 
with perfume; the merry birds twittering a glad 
welcome to the new day. Theodore rose by sunrise 
and sauntered out for a walk, while the ladies, after 
a light breakfast, were preparing for the ride. They 
proposed going some distance into the country, 
halting for rest and lunch, rambling through the 
woods till weary, and returning in the cool part of 
the evening. He was anticipating much pleasure, 
as he looked abroad. He remembered how childishly 
fond Ellen was of her freedom, and longed to see the 
dancing light of her dark eyes, and the color once 
more glowing in her pale cheeks, as of old. If he 
had other motives, they were not predominant on 
this morning, until a little incident made them so. 

As he strolled leisurely away enjoying his cigar 
and the balmy morning air, a sudden turn in the road 
brought him face to face with two gentlemen with 
whom he had become slightly acquainted since his 
arrival. Both lifted their hats politely, suspending 
an animated conversation as he approached them, 
and greeting him pleasantly. 

“ I am glad to have met you, Mr. Raymond,” said 
one of them in a cordial, easy way. “ We are going 
to have some fine sport to-day, and would like you to 
( 287 ) 


288 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


join us. It is to be a ride — a picnic in the grove, 
and return borne by moonlight. We sliall have music 
and the most delightful society of Saratoga. The 
young Kichmond belle makes one of the party. Will 
you go?” 

‘‘ Surely, if it were possible, I have inducements 
enough offered me,” smiled Theodore. “ I should 
lika to join you, but I have an engagement to ride 
with a couple of ladies to-day, one of whom is an 
invalid, and I fear unable to bear much fatigue. I 
thank you, but 1 must decline.” 

“ 0, do not do so,” put in the other gentleman. 
“ There is no necessity of declining on those grounds. 
Take your ladies with you by all means, and if the 
delicate one should need rest, leave her for an hour 
or two at the farm house close by. With the second, 
you can join us for a little while and have fine 
sport.” 

Theodore thought a moment, and decided after a 
question. 

“ What time do you start ?” 

“ At ten.” 

“/Then I will join you after you get there. I shall 
start much earlier to get the benefit of the morning’s 
freshness. It will be less fatiguing. You may count 
on seeing me for a short time at least, among you.” 

“ Very well, sir ; shull be most happy. I wish you 
a pleasant ride. Good morning.” 

Both gentlemen lifted their hats, and separated. 
Theodore took another turn through the grounds, and 
then bent his steps back to his hotel. 

‘‘The Kichmond belle,” he mused as he sauntered 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 289 

OH. Doubtless that is the spariding little lady of the 
Green Habit. I will get an introduction to her if it is!” 

Suddenly another thought struck him. He laughed 
a little to himself as he indulged it, 

“ It will be interesting to see what Mrs. Meredith 
will do if I can bring about a meeting without much 
clanger. I would really like to know what the 
mystery is that lies in that quarter, for a mystery 
there is, I am certain,” 

Ellen and Ora were ready when he reached the 
iiouse, and the groom was waiting his orders to lead 
np the horses. Ellen mounted first, gleeful and 
happy as a child to find herself once more able to 
go out. Ora deseended the steps slowljvi'^l^^ctantly, 
glaneiiig round to see if strange eyes wei-e observing 
her. Mr. Haymoud noticed it, and mentally won- 
clered whether she feared being seen because of 
inexperience in riding, or because she- wished to 
avoid observation from other motives. He smiled a 
little doubtfully as she approached her horse with a 
shy^, half shrinking manner. She caught the glance 
and read it instantly, but betrayed no knowledge 
of the fact by a single look. Advancing quietly, she 
took the reins in her right hand, and with them, 
placed it on the saddle, catching her habit lightly up 
with the left. She did not hesitate when he held 
out his hand, but placing her little foot in his palm, 
mounted quickly and without an effort. 

Mr. Eaymoud’s eyes lighted with admiration not 
•iinmixcd with surprise, but quietly arranged her 
-dress as she took the mane with her left hand and 
lifted herself in the saddle for the purpose. The 
25 


290 


OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 


next moment lie had vaulted into the saddle himself, 
and they started in nice order. 

Ora sat her horse well. Ellen and her brother 
silently and admiringly acknowledged the exceeding 
grace of her slender figure, set off by the close fitting 
black habit. She had never in her life appeared so 
well to them — never looked more the lady — well 
bred, elegant and accomplished, than she did at that 
moment. 

Ellen’s spirits rose as the warm blood in her veins 
began to circulate with the exercise. She rode 
fearlessly and rapidly in the face of her brother’s 
entreaties to spare her strength. With a gay, laugh- 
ing reply, she dashed on, they following. 

Ora’s thick veil was down, and concealed her 
features ; but Mr. Kaymond knew by instinct that she 
was as joyous as his sister, though more quiet. He 
was musing upon what was to come. The test of 
her horsemanship had proved satisfactory. She had 
not declined from fear or inexperience. lie at once 
concluded that it was the fear of meetino; the strange 
lady whose face had been sufficient to drive all color 
from her face the moment her eyes rested on her. 
He was thinking of her cry of astonishment, her 
livid lips, and her seclusion for hours on the day 
previous, and surmised rightly that no ordinary 
circumstances could have produced such an effect. 
His interest grew upon him as he pondered the 
matter, grew and deepened because of the hold she 
had taken upon his mind. Young, beautiful, highly 
accomplished, and yet enveloped in mystery as to 
her past j preserving a rigid silence on all that 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


291 


pertained to tier previous history, you will not wonder, 
if Mr. Jla3miond’3 curionsitj got the better of hiui, 
and his more noble and generous feelings were sub- 
merged in the desire to know what she had refused 
to tell him. lie argued that he had a right to know 
who his sister’s companion and friend was. A lady 
she had ever been; that he acknowledged. A 
thought of evil in connection with her, returned to 
him, glancing from her purity and innate dignity, as 
shafts from a bright surface of steel. 

Perhaps Mr. Kaymond had no right now to think 
and plan a revelation, after acting upon his impulsive 
feelings and taking her unquestioned into his service 
and his confidence, from the midst of unfavorable 
circumstances. Had he cared less for her, still 
possessing the respect she inspired, he would have 
gone on quietly, sufiering her to keep her own 
secrets unmolested or disturbed, within her own 
bosom. As it was, he grew daily more interested in 
her singular, yet beautiful character, and as its 
originality and depth became apparent, he found 
himself studying, comparing her with others; puz- 
zling over her histor}^, and in a fair way to lose 
himself in the growing and absorbing interest of his 
observation and speculation. 

How singular that he, like another, should thus 
think and plan against her. Different feelings were 
the mainspring of action, yet the result must be the 
same. Harry Clifton had thus thought, plotted, and 
exposed her in the end; Theodore Kaymond was fol- 
lowing in his wake, only to meet a like fate, and find 
out too late that he had worked out his own misery. 


CHAPTER XXYIIL 


Four hours later, Ellen found herself comfortably 
settled on a lounge in a farm house, after having run 
about till she was tired. Theodore laid peremptory 
commands on her, and after quaffing a glass of the 
housewife’s cool sweet milk, she prepared for a sleep 
and rest. 

Ora proposed to remain beside her, but both of them 
vetoed the proposal instantly. Mr. Raymond must 
have a companion in his further rambles, and Ellen 
could not sleep if he or she were deprived of any 
enjoyment that was to be obtained. So, overruled by 
the majority, she readily donned her hat and started 
forth. 

Their path led through green meadows into the 
forest, whither Theodore bent his steps in search of 
the picnic party. Ora tossed back her veil as they 
entered beneath the shade of the trees, and walked 
on with a quick, elastic step. Something in the scene 
roused old remembrances. Her color rose ; her lips 
quivered. She forgot her quiet reserve, and became 
almost as enthusiastic as Ellen had been. 

“ Hear old woods I” she cried as she gazed around 
her. “How ye remind me of old, familiar scenes 
of my childhood I Many a day I have rambled over 
rock and brook, revelling in the wild feeling of freedom 
with Xature,as now. Do you know, Mr. Raymond, I 
( 292 ) 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 293 

feel like a different being just now ! I have left my 
old self behind me. I am just as you might have 
found me years ago, when the woods were my daily 
companions !” 

“ Then you love Mature ?” 

“ As a mother, I love her !” was the fervent reply. 

“Has it been long since you were in the forest — 
since you enjo^^ed a scene like this ?” 

“ Very long.” 

Her head half drooped with her answer. Sadness 
was mixed deeply with the joy it called up. “ It has 
been five or six years. Life’s duties in that time have 
been rigid. The hot, teeming city claimed me her 
servant, and my work might not be abandoned. I am 
glad to come out again into the world of space, where 
thought and pleasure can walk hand in hand peace- 
fully. Oh ! I am glad ! ” 

They had reached a little dell where a brook ran 
bubbling and splashing over the stones. Ora threw 
herself down upon a mossy rock, nestling with loving 
joy against the giant body of a grand old oak, as she 
would have nestled against the bosom of a mother. 
She threw down her hat, suffering the breeze to fan 
her brow at will, and drawing her glove from her 
hand, idly dipped the tips of her fingers in the spark- 
ling water. Theodore sat down near her, commanding 
by her position, a full view of her face. She appeared 
to him in a new light to-day. Happiness, tinged even 
with sadness as it was, gave her a different aspect. 
The picture he contemplated was fascinating. He 
became complimentary and poetical. 

‘‘ What a subject for an artist !” he exclaimed. “ If 


294 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


one were near, he might make his name and fortune 
sure, if he were only skillful enough to give life to 
the work of art as I see it at this moment in nature ! 
You should see yourself as I see you, Mrs. Meredith — ” 
Ora laughed lightly, interrupting him. 

** 0 , wad some power o’ giftie gie us. 

To see oursels as ithers see us.” 

she quoted. “ Is it not apropos^ Mr. Raymond?” 

He continued as if he had not been interrupted, 
“ you would be charmed with yourself. Enjoyment 
has made your eyes bright as stars. There is a light 
and depth in them I have never seen before. It was 
as if a cloud had rolled away and left revealed the 
bright Star of Evening, to shine out in deep and 
intense lustre upon the world. Your lips are like the 
scarlet — your cheeks w^ear the blush of the June rose. 
On one side, that tree forms a splendid back ground 
for your face. Its rough bark and dark color are suffi- 
cient contrast to the smooth fairness of your cheek; 
then there is a witching wildness in your hair, one side 
of which has fallen over your neck and shoulder, lying 
like spiral threads of light over you, for a stray gleam 
of sunlight is playing fantastically over them. You 
have no 'idea what a fine picture you would make. 
Were it painted, people would say it was too beauti- 
ful to be natural. They would call it a fancy sketch.” 

“As if Hature were not more beautiful than Art!” 
exclaimed Ora, with deepening color. “ In my 
opinion, Mr. Raymond, no artist ever reached the 
perfection of his art so nearly, as when he copies 
Rature most closely.” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 295 

“ Then yon, at least, would acknowledge the justice 
of my verbal sketch he laughed jestingly, 

“ Nonsense !” 

She laughed also, but the color mounted more 
vividly. ‘‘ You are laughing at me now, Mr. Kay- 
mond.” 

‘‘ Indeed I am not,” he replied quickly, dropping 
his light tone and becoming more earnest. ‘‘ I should 
not take such a liberty, I assure you.” 

Ora pulled up little tufts of moss and idly tossed 
them into the stream whose bright rippling waves 
whirled them away swiftly. Already she was begin- 
ning to feel less joyous under the gaze he bent upon 
her. The same expression she had seen upon it once 
before as they stood upon the steps in the city, was 
upon it now, and the same feelings of disturbance — 
a vague, undefined dread — began to steal over her. 
She wished Ellen had been with her, or that she was 
back at the house. Perhaps Theodore divined the 
cause of the shade of gravity that had come over her 
features, and sought to dispel it, for he sprang up and 
began to break off branches of evergreen and pluck 
wild flowers, ostensibly to carry back to his sister. 

Give them to me as you gather them, and I will 
twine them into a wreath,” she said, glad to be free 
from his earnest gaze. 

He did as requested, and while he roamed about in 
search of the brightest flowers to be found, she wrought 
them skillfully into a wreath, pausing now and then 
to look about her and enjoy the scene. A sense of 
deep happiness grew up in her heart. The twitter of 
the birds, the faint rustle of the breeze in the leaves. 


296 


OEA, THE LOST WIFE. 


the pnrl and splash of the brcx)k, the mossy stones, 
tlie scrubby undergrowth — all carried lier back to a 
time when suffering had as yet laid no hand upon 
her fair young life. She was too busy with her own 
pleasant thoughts to heed her companion, wdio, a 
little distance from her, had suddenly paused to listen. 
In a moment a gentleman’s head appeared just above 
the brow of a little hill above him. He came forward, 
parting the bushes carefully, a lady following, her 
lips wreathed in smiles. Theodore’s face assumed an 
expression of astonishment, and he whistled under 
his breath — 

Luck t by all that’s funny !” he muttered. “Now 
for it. Let’s see what is coming.” 

lie turned and walked a few paces toward Ora, 
pausing behind a pile of stones that served to screen 
liim partially from view. He wished only to see her 
face when the lady came up, that lie might set all 
doubts at rest. Did she know her? He must see. 

The lady and gentleman were coming on steadily, 
laughing and talking easily as they advanced. The 
sounds caught Ora’s ears, and she hastily turned to 
observe who was near. She did not appear embar- 
rassed, but settled herself back in her place calmly, 
and drooped her head slightly over her work. She 
evidently meant to let them pass without further 
notice. 

That, however, soon became impossible. Die gen- 
tleman stopped and she heard him say something in 
a low tone to his companion. Involuntarily she raised 
her eyes, and as she did so, the stranger turned her 
head. Their eyes met. A rapid glance showed both 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 297 

faces pallid as marble. Theodore never forgot the 
agony and intensity of Ora’s blue orbs, or the terrified 
stare of the black ones she encountered. The reco^ui- 

O 

tion had been mutual, and evidently painful to both. 

The young man’s heart throbbed heavily. In a 
moment a sense of utter shame for the feelings that 
had prompted him, and wretchedness he could not 
understand, had taken possession of him. He at once 
turned his back upon them and began breaking off 
some laurel branches to cover his late occupation as 
spy upon the lady whom he had taken under his 
care and protection. 

The strangers passed on, and were soon lost to 
sight. No w^ord had escaped either. Only for that 
one glance, he might have been just as much in the 
dark as before. That had spoken volumes. His 
surmises were more than verified. But what they 
had been to each other, and the mystery between them, 
he was yet to learn. 

Ora lifted one quick, searching glance to his face 
as he came back to her. Had he seen the glance ? 
His face said nothing, and her eyes fell to the ground. 
She was deadly pale, and her hands shook violently. 

I am afraid these people have startled you with 
their sudden appearance,” he remarked. “You are 
nervous.” 

“ You saw them ?” she said, striving to appear calm. 

“ Yes, I was only a little way off. That was the 
Hichmond Belle everybody is raving about — and the 
lady who rides so splendidly. I shall seek an intro- 
duction some time soon. She is beautiful.” 

He could not forbear this last remark, and her quick 


298 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

gesture of alarm or pain, answered to liis expectation. 
But she forbore comments. With a look of unutter- 
able wretchedness, she arose and said wearily: 

“I am tired. Let us go back.” 

They retraced their steps slowly. She knew by his 
silence, that he had penetrated her secret. Had he 
not divined the recognition, he would have bantered 
her upon her nervousness. But his readj^ acquies- 
cence to her wishes, and grave demeanor, proved that 
his suspicions were aroused, and he was pondering 
the matter silently. 

They did not join the picnic party. Finding Ellen 
awake and willing to return, they accordingly mounted 
and rode back home liesurely. 

Ellen was full of life and spirit, and rattled on of 
everything she had seen and enjoyed. Theodore 
roused himself to meet her advances, and they chatted 
gaily. Ora’s silence excited no attention from the 
young girl. She was always quiet ; and so they 
arrived at their hotel at length, without her ever 
having uttered a word since they started. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


Ellen and her companion had scarcely reached 
their rooms, ere Theodore came running into the 
parlor. 

“Father and mother have come,” he said breath- 
lessly. “ They came about an hour ago, and have not 
left the room since. They sent for me, but Mr. P — - 
told them 1 was out somewhere. I hope they did not 
see us as we rode up the street.” 

“ Oh, my heart will break!” Ellen sank upon a 
chair, pale and panting, clasping both hands over 
her bosom. “ I wish I had not come here ! What 
shall Ido?” 

“ Only keep your room and do not venture out of 
it till they leave. Courage, little sister. All will go 
well yet.” 

“ Ah, but it seems so hard 1 Hiding like a crimi- 
nal from my parents’ sight — hateful to their eyes as 
though the blackest of sin tainted me. Oh, mother, 
dear mother 1 I cannot bear it 1” 

“See here, Ellen, this will not do,” began Theodore, 
gravely, seating himself beside her and drawing her 
close to his bosom. “Trust to your brother, whose 
love for, and desire to protect you, is the sole aim and 
virtue of his life. I know it is hard, but you can 
boar it, Ellen — can and must. You must never 
attempt to see them. If by accident they should get 


300 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 




sight of you, the hopes I have so long cherished for ^ 
both are at an end forever. We know too well the 
stern, unrelenting will of our father. We must not 
brave it, or all is lost. Try to calm yourself, and be 
patient, I beg.” * 

She looked up tearfully. 

“ I will try for your sake, dear Theodore, but if you 
find me weak and childish forgive me. Every hour 
my heart yearns more and more for my mother,' and 
to think of her being near me — beneath the same 
roof, and I forced to shut myself from her sight — 
never hear the sound of her voice or feel even for a 
moment the clasp of her arms around me, breaks 
down all the firmness I have. Oh, if I could but once" 
have her gentle hand on my head, and hear her say 
as she used to do, ‘God bless my daughter,’ I think 
I could bear anything then. And yet, within but a 
few yards of her, this may not be. Oh! brother! 
brother !” 

This burst of feeling soon spent itself, and she grew 
more reconciled under the influence of Mr. Raymond’s 
hopeful, hearty words of comfort. As soon as he saw 
her quiet, he withdrew to seek his parents and wel- 
come them. 

He found his father lying upon the bed, pale and 
feeble, while his mother, seated by him, bathed his 
head with a reviving spirit. The journey had been 
very fatiguing, and he was worn out. 

Mrs. Raymond rose at once, and threw her arms 
about her son’s neck affectionately. Mr. Raymond 
merely held out his hand quietly. 

“lam so sorry not to have been in the house when 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 301 

ft 

* yon came,” said Theodore. “ I hardly expected you 
before to-morrow or the day after. How did you bear 

P traveling, sir?” 

‘‘Badly. I am used up entirely. All the strength 
I had is gone.” 

“You need rest, sir. In a little w^hile you will feel 
better. Are you tired, mother?” 

“ N’o, my son ; only anxious. Your father has such 
bad nights — ‘So little sleep, that his strength is failing 

• him in consequence. I do hope the air here will 
revive him. It seems pleasant.” 

“ It is so,” responded Theodore. “ Have you 
made up your mind how long you shall stay, father?” 

“Ho. I have not thought much about it. I 
suppose we will remain a week or two till I get some 
streno:tb. I cannot travel so. I had no idea how 
weak I was until within the last three days.” 

Theodore sat engaged in conversation for some 
time, and then rising, said he would order tea in their 
room. He remained to partake of the meal with them, 
and afterwards insisted upon sitting awhile with his 
father until his mother could get some rest. 

Mr. Raymond looked gratified, and Mrs. Raymond’s 
eyes filled as she gently patted him on the head. 

“ Kind, good boy. What should we do without our 
dear, thoughtful son ?” 

Perhaps a thought of her other child, so near her 
without her knowledge, came up with the caress. 
Anyway, her pale, gentle face grew sadder, and the 
tears in her eyes dropped silently over her cheeks as 
she turned away. 

Theodore’s room adjoined that of his parents, and 


302 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


lie male his mother go into it and lie down while he 
made his father comfortable for the night. 

One would tliiidv you are used to nursing from 
your manner,” said Mr. Eaymond, noting his readi- 
ness in everything, and apparent knowledge of all 
that was to be done. 

“ And so I am,” thought Theodore but he said 
nothing. 

It was late in the evening before the old gentleman 
fell asleep, and he had a chance to slip away to his 
sister. She overwhelmed him with questions. How 
were they? IIow did they look ? Had they suspected 
anything? What had they said? To all of which 
questions ho gave distinct and literal answers, 
patiently and kindly. He saw that she was excited 
and unhappy, and he pitied her from his heart. 

After a little while he rose again. 

“Don’t feel badly if I cannot come to you quite 
so much as I would wish. I will find chances to 
run in and tell you everything that happens, and 
you must try in the meantime to be as cheerful 
as possible. Mother will need me a great deal, you 
know.” 

“ How I wish I might help her,” murmured Ellen. 
“Who will say that disobedience does not bring its 
own consequences ? God forgive and pity me. I am 
the most miserable and wretched of children.” 

“There! Do not reproach yourself uselessly. 
Good night, darling. You must go to sleep and be 
bright in the morning. I shall be in to sec you the 
first thing I do after waking.” 

He kissed her tenderly and went out. Ellen 


OKAj THE LOST WIFE. 


803 


listened until his footsteps died away, and then going 
into her chamber, sobbed herself to sleep. 

To Ora the boon would not come. Many hours 
after the busy hum of life was hushed around her, 
she sat by her window in the pale moonlight and 
thought. Shadows once more were thickening 
around her pathway. Turn where she would, the 
clouds rolled darkly over her way. She scarce was 
made to feel the warmth and brightness of the sun- 
shine, ere it was obscured, leaving her chilled and 
more dreary to grope her way through the gloom. 

“Ah! when, and in what will it all end? Better 
for me that I were dead.” 

Many a time the despairing cry had risen before. 
Bitterly it rose now. She was so weary of struggling. 
Concealment and mystery w^ere so sickening. Truth 
and frankness would bring upon her the shame and 
pity of a wronged and neglected wife — from some, 
scorn and doubt. Between the two stinging alterna- 
tives, how could she choose? It was a hard question. 
How could any woman answer it, and feel at ease in 
the decision she made ? Both were painful. She 
could not tell which was less painful of the two. 

Thus she sat long and silently, pondering. She 
was not the only one, however, who could not sleep. 
Across the little yard in the wing of the building, she 
could see a dim light, and at regular intervals a slight 
form pass and repass the window with a monotonous 
tread. She wondered sometimes who it was, and 
what kept the watcher up so late at night in that 
uneasy walk. Did she too suffer ? Was she unhap- 
pily pondering over some dark spots in her life? Ah, 


304 


ORA, THE LOST WIPE. 


if so, God pitj and comfort her, even as she would 
crave Ilis pity in her own dark hours. 

Ah ! Ora Meredith, how little 3’ou know for \^dioni 
your prayers ascend I Could you but look into that 
room and note the whiteness of that dark little face — 
the fierce clench of the small hands, and the angry, 
yet deeply suffering light of the black eyes, I fear your 
pity would change to a different feeling. But God is 
wise. You see none of this. He drops a vail 
between the thoughts of His children, that they may 
not read the warring anger of each other’s hearts ; 
and so the flashing eyes and clenched hands are shut 
out from your sight. You hear neither the broken 
exclamations or angry breathings. Wiien she pauses, 
you do not know that her rapid fingers are tracing 
lines albimportant in the thread of 3^0111’ own destiny, 
and that may soon change the whole aspect of your 
life. 

And }’et, who knows but the God to whom that 
unconscious prayer was breathed, in answer to it, 
prompted those lines which to-morrow’s mail will bear 
away, like a white-winged messenger to the sunny 
South 1 


CHAPTER XXX. 


The short space of one week brought marked 
changes to our little party. The elder Mr. Raymond 
j grew seriously ill, and the physician called in shook 
his head ominously when questioned as to his condi- 
tion. Being a strictly conscientious man, he would 
not hold out hopes that might not be realized. He 
could only say : 

“ It is serious, and will require the best of nursing 
and skill to save him.” 

More than this he avoided uttering. Theodore 
watched faithfully in the sick room, relieving his 
mother all in his power ; while Ellen, pale and 
crushed, sat in her room with folded hands, resisting 
any effort of her nurse to rouse and cheer her. It 
was well, perhaps, for Ora, that this state of Ellen’s 
should follow the painful discovery she had made, 
since it served to make her in a manner forget herself, 
and devote all her energies to other purposes than 
idle broodings and vain conjectures. 

And yet a fearful change was wrought in a few 
davs. Her usually pale face had grown of a marble 
whiteness, while the features so lately becoming round 
and full, had again assumed their sharp outlines, 
speaking silently of suffering and care. Her eyes 
were darker, once more lighted deeply with the old 
spark of trouble that had slumbered in their depths, 
(305) 26 


30G 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


and beiieatli them, black circles were slowly creeping. 
Had not the friends around her been so fully occupied 
with their own cares, they must have been alarmed 
at the wondrous transformation of those few days. 

One evening Theodore came in looking pale and 
weary. To Ellen’s question he returned the usual 
reply, “ No better,” and shortly after, took an oppor- 
tunity to say to Ora in a low tone: 

“I shall not come again to-night. Mother is worn 
out, and I shall stay by her. The end, I think, is 
near. Try to keep Ellen as quiet as you can, and do 
not let her know that there is such immediate danger. 
Her excitement, I fear,' would make her either ill, 
or forgetful of prudence. Persuade her to retire 
early.” 

“ You will send me word if anything happens ?” 

“Yes, good night.” 

He took her hand in his, and a slight pressure 
showed his appreciation of her faithfulness and sym- 
pathy. For a moment his eyes rested on her face, 
and a deep sigh escaped him. He noted the change 
for the first time, and her uncomplaining gentleness 
touched his heart. He said nothing, however, and 
went out slowly, after a few words to his sister. 

That night, near one o’clock, a light tap on Ora’s 
door roused her. 

“ Are 3 "ou awake ?” asked a low voice outside. 

“Yes. Do you want anything?” 

“ Get up and dress yourself, quickly. I want you.” 

In less than three minutes, she came out and stood 
beside him. 

“My father is dying, I fear,” said Theodore, in 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


307 


low, faltering tones. ‘‘But do not say anything. 
Come with me to his apartment. Mother is having 
fainting fits, and I can do nothing alone. I need your 
help sadly.” 

She did not hesitate, but suffered him to take her 
hand and lead her out. They passed rapidly through 
the dimly lighted hall to a stairway which they 
ascended. When they reached tlie door above, he 
opened a door on the right, and entered a large room 
where a painful picture was revealed. 

Ora had never forgotten the stern features of the old 
minister. The inflexible lines of his hard face were 
as stern now as when he turned her helpless from his 
door. He vvas thinner and paler, but the same 
personage was there, strongly marked and inflexible, 
l^dng with half-closed eyes and hand, crossed over his 
breast, shaken with agony, and moaning piteously. 

Mrs. Baymoud, pale and weak, lay upon the sofa, 
weeping silently, and kindly attended by a chamber- 
maid whom Theodore had called in from the night 
watch, while he went for Ora. The doctor sat near 
the patient, noti ng every change carefully. He scarcely 
lifted his eyes as they entered, but appeared wholly 
absorbed in tlie sufferer. 

A fresh burst of tears greeted Theodore’s return. 
The poor woman’s long suflering heart was sorely tried 
in this hour. 

“ Oh, if he would only remember poor Ellen kindly 
at last,” she whispered, “I feel as if I could bear it 
better. But to see him die as he has lived — silent and 
unforgiving !” 

Theodore turned his head aside quickly, striving to 


308 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

swallow back the feeling that rose rebellioiislv in his 
throat and choked his utterance. 

‘‘Ah! where is she now? — my poor wanderer !” 
she murmured again, all her thoughts centering upon 
her child. “ I feel as if I shall go wild to think of 
her far away, and in ignorance of the change so fast 
approaching. Oh, I am sure if she knew this, she 
would hasten to her mother. She was always loving 
and kind-liearted — poor, misguided girl.” 

“Yes, mother, and it is not her fault she is not here 
now,” spoke the brother earnestly. “ Had not her 
name been a forbidden word in her father’s house- 
hold, she would long since have come back to us, and 
we all should have been happier.” 

The mother made no reply, but turned her face to 
"the sofa pillows and lay still. 

Ora sat down by her, gently chafing her hands, 
while Theodore crossed the room to his father’s side. 
A fearful paroxysm of pain was coming on, and his 
groans and cries were becoming each moment more 
terrible. 

As the cries increased, Mrs. Raymond’s distress 
became insupportable. She shuddered feebly, and at 
last with a low, wailing cry, yielded to the deadly 
faintness that crept over her. She scarcely came out 
of one fainting fit ere she sank into another, and Ora 
had her hands full to attend to her. 

Between the two the devoted son divided his atten- 
tion. It was a fearful hour for him. Sometimes Ora 
would lift her glance to his face to see how he bore it, 
but found him always calm and steady, though she 
could see plainly that he sufiered. Ilis father’s life 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


309 


seemed fast ebbing away, and the one great hope he 
had cherished, was dying out with the sands of his 
life ; and as his hopes faded, a settled sadness and 
quiet gloom fixed itself upon his features. Poor Ellen 
must go on through life, broken-hearted with the 
memory of her father’s unrelenting anger. 

Thus hours passed, bringing no relief or change. 
Mrs. Paymond grew worse, if anything, and now the 
doctor divided his time between the husband and 
wife. The long-continued faints were becoming criti- 
cal and alarming. Ora thought that the morning’s 
sun would rise upon two hearts at rest, for she could 
not hope that the poor woman would survive her 
husband, even .though that husband had been cruel 
and unrelenting. 

Once when Theodore bent over his mother. Ora 
siezed the opportunity to whisper a request in his ear. 
Her heart was full. She could no longer bear to 
think of the girl’s painful, isolated position. All 
night she had been thinking of her. 

“Go for her, Mr. Kaymond. Do bring her here,” 
she pleaded. “ It is cruel to keep her away now, 
when Death overshadows both. How can you bear 
the thought?” 

Theodore began to tremble. 

“ Can she bear it, do you think ?” 

“ Better than to be left there alone in this hour. 
Oh, what does it matter to them now? They will not 
be affected by her presence, and it will comfort her a 
little.” 

Theodore crossed to the doctor and whispered with 
him a moment, and then went out hurriedly. Ora’s 


310 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


Iieart beat fast. She felt sure lie had gone for Ellen, 
and now that he had gone, she Ixigan to fear the effect 
upon her of this painful scene. How would she bear 
it? Perhaps her strength would give way too, and 
leave her helpless. Perhaps she would cry out in her 
distress and alarm the house. Every possible sugges- 
tion that could disturb and render her uneasy, rose in 
her mind. 

Ten minutes, an interminable age it seemed, elapsed 
before they came. With an irrepressible impulse, 
Ora abandoned her post and hastened to meet them 
before they could advance into the room, and threw 
her arms around Ellen. 

‘‘Oh, dear Ellen, do be calm now, for Heaven’s 
sake,” she murmured, in her fear, as she pressed the 
shaking form to her bosom. “Think of the awful 
danger to yourself and them, and be calm !” 

' “ Do not fear,” replied the poor girl, faintly. “ I 
will be as calm as any one here. Theodore would not 
let me come till I had promised him, and I shall not 
break it, even though my heart break in the attempt 
to crush it into silence.” 

She verified her assertion by first going to her 
mother, and gently, tenderly kissing her pale lips and 
brow ; lovingly stroking back the hair from her face 
and bestowing every mark of overweening affection 
upon her. Tears rained silently over her face, but 
for one moment she did not forget herself or utter a 
cry. 

After a little while she went to her father and gazed 
earnestly upon his features, thinned and sharpened 
more than ever, by this night’s suffering. She took 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


311 


his hand in hers, and all the better feelings of her 
heart rising with that touch, she fell upon her knees 
by the bed, uttering one little sob, breathing one 
touching prayer. 

‘‘ Oh, father, do not die till you have forgiven your 
child!” 

The appeal went to every heart. The doctor turned 
his face aside to brush away his tears unseen. Ora 
bowed her head and wept freely, while Theodore, 
staunch and true in his loyal love, knelt by his sister, 
and drew her within his arms. 

No more touching picture was ever seen. 

A little later, the sick man stirred and unclosed his 
eyes. After the paroxysm of which we have spoken, 
he had fallen intoastupor, during which he lay as one 
dead. But now a faint spark of intelligence shone in 
his ej’es as they wandered round. The Doctor stepped 
to his side, touching Theodore, who rose and stood by 
him. The old man’s eyes rested fixedly upon him, with 
a growing sense of yearning and inquiry. Now, Ellen 
unable longer to endure the suspense, slowly raised 
herself, and his eyes wandered to her face. For one 
moment brother and sister held their breath in an 
agony of suspense and fear. But no cloud knit itself 
in the old man’s brow. • After a moment’s steady 
gaze, he smiled a faint, tender smile, and half lifted 
one feeble hand. 

With a beating heart, the poor girl bent to his lips 
and felt his kiss upon her cheek. Then she knew 
that she was forgiven, even had not the slight, cling- 
ing clasp of the feeble hands folded over hers, told 
her so before. 


312 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


‘•At last, thank God I” was the grateful crv of the 
noble-hearted brother, and hastily turning away, he 
sat down in a distant corner of the room, and sobbed 
like a child in his joy, while Ellen wept upon her 
father’s breast. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

The morning sun shone in calmly upon a quiet and 
gladdened group. Mr. Raymond lay peacefully 
sleeping, his sou seated by him, while Ellen, her 
young face lighted with grateful joy, sat on a low 
stool near her mother’s sofa, both hands fondly clasped 
in hers, while the gentle ej^es fixed on her features 
spoke volumes of love and gratitude. The doctor 
pronounced the crisis past, and said Mr. Raymond 
would get well rapidly, turning a beaming glance on 
Ellen as he did so. Mrs. Raymond had a panacea 
for all her ills in the happy assurance of her husband’s 
safet}", and the blessed reality of her daughter’s 
presence. The clouds but lately so threatening, were 
rolling away, and light and peace had come back to 
their darkened lives. 

Ora looked on in quiet sympathy, and rejoiced in 
the change. It was a rare and sweet feeling to enjoy 
such happiness as she felt in looking upon the happi- 
ness of these two devoted children, restored to a 
parents love and confidence, no longer compelled to 
resort to deceit to gain justice. 

“ It looked fearful for them a little while since,” 


313 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE, 

she thought, ‘‘ Xow all is well. A few hours have 
cliaijged, as it were, the whole aspect of their lives, 
and it is very bright for them. May not I, too, hope 
for a change? Surely, I am not doomed to live all 
my earthly life in dread and sadness. Oh, I must 
hope for a brighter day.” 

The doctor was right. Mr. Raymond recovered 
rapidl}". In the course of a week he sat up; in a few 
days more he rode out in an open carriage, and in a 
fortnight, was able to walk about aided by his staff, 
ids son always beside him, 

Theodore wuitched over his feeble footsteps as he 
might a little tottering child’s. There was a new 
charm fer him in the old man’s society. Ilis harsh- 
ness and sternness he had cast off with the dangers 
of his malad}", and had risen to his new life, gentle, 
thoughtfhl and kind, 

“During his convalescence, they had made fell and 
mutual confessions. Theodore acknowledged his 
system of deception and its motive, while the old 
man’s tears fell silently over the remembrance of his 
cruelt3\ And now the young man lifted his head in 
conscious pride, and his step grew more buoyant and 
s|)riiiging under the happy influences around him. 
He could bo his own noble, honest self without fear, 
lie saw his sister forgiven, and received lovingly 
home again in her parents’ hearts, aad his work of 
self-sacrifice was done. He could love and revere 
his father, and fer this he rejoiced wfith a joy none 
might guess, except those who, like him, have been 
driven from the tender emotions of filial love by 
harshness and injustice. Now he wisely ignored all 

27 


314 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

that was past, and lived in the present, calmed and 
satisfied. 

As Mr. Kajmond’s health improved, they mingled 
more in the society of the Springs. Theodore loved 
to entice his mother and sister into company ; and as 
several of the lady’s old friends were there, it was not 
long ere she had a pleasant little circle around her. 

Some of these were fully acquainted with Ellen’s 
history — the story of her marriage, being discarded, 
and her final return and reconciliation. It was 
generally believed that her husband was dead. But 
though this had afforded a nice piece of gossip about 
the time of the meeting between the child and 
parents, they were sufficiently delicate never to hint a 
knowledge of the painful events, and things passed 
on pleasantly enough. 

But now came the most painful season for Ora. In 
spite of her efforts to keep aloof, she often found 
herself drawn into the society she wished to avoid. 
Ellen’s warm heart, glowing in its restored happiness, 
clung more closely to her, and the mother loved her 
for her child’s sake — ^I’espeeted her for her own innate 
dignity and refinement. She had made a favorable 
impression upon all, and was beloved and honored. 

But the footing on which she stood was uncertain. 
The interest they betrayed in her gave rise to the 
question : 

“Who is she?” 

A lady put the question to Mrs. Eaymoiid, and 
Ellen had answered it quickly : 

“ A lady — a widow whom brother engaged to take 
care of me when so very ill this Spring. She has 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


315 


lost her husband and a child, and has no rcdations to 
whom she may look fur assistance. She told mo 
she was an orphan. That she is a lady, however, 
and has been accustomed to luxury, every one may 
see.” 

Where does she come from 1” 

“The South. Can you not tell her southern 
nativity by her accent?” 

“Yes. I thought so. She is a very interesting 
person.” 

“ Indeed, she is I I wish you could hear her talk 
sometimes. I never heard her ecpial in conversation ; 
and her voice and expression in singing, are match- 
less. You would love the ground she walked on, if 
yon heard her sing.” 

“ Ilow extravagant you are, Ellen,” smiled Mrs. 
Raymond, glancing at the lady to whom the eulogium 
was addressed. 

“ Oh no, mamma, you are mistaken. No words 
are competent to express her wondrous power. You 
shall judge for yourself sometime. I will get her to 
sing for you. She used to lull me to sleep every 
night, and invariably I closed my eyes with the tears 
hanging upon my lashes.” 

“You rouse my curiosity,” said another lady of the 
group. “Can you gratify us also, and persuade your 
friend to sing for our benefit?” 

“Perhaps, but she is very shy, and hates company 
dreadfully.” 

“I believe all ladies do who have met reverses, 
and are compelled to accept dependent positions 
where they once took the lead in society. How I pity 


316 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


that class of refined poor people who drop from ease 
and luxury into labor and self-dependence.” 

“ Truly, their’s cannot be the happiest oi* lives,” 
asserted Mrs. Eaymond. 

“I do not think our friend is an exception. She 
does not look either happy or contented. Only 
enduring and patient. She never complains, yet 
she seldom laughs, and very often sighs heavily 
when she thinks no one observes her. I find my 
sympatliies very strongly enlisted in her behalf, some- 
times.” 

‘‘Then she is so good and gentle. I know I’ve 
been very naughty and cross many a time,” put in 
Ellen, “but she was always the same patient, loving 
nurse, in spite of it. I wish I could ever hope to be 
half as good I” 

Thus interest was aroused by exciting curiosity and 
implanting a favorable impression of her in the minds 
of these gossip-loving ladies, ever ready for new and 
pleasing sensations. From the general impression, 
old ladies found an outlet for sympathy, while the 
young dipped into the romance of her history as they 
gained an idea of it. Much to Ora’s pain and annoy- 
ance, she soon found herself an object of special 
attention, sought after by all, some curiously, some 
with real kindly interest, but in both senses, far from 
pleasant or agreeable. 

Tiie one great dread of her life now, was of meet- 
ing the lady of the forest encounter. ISTo sight of her 
had betrayed her presence since she had been out of 
the sick chambers of her friends. Still she feared, 
among so many, it was a mere chance she had not 




ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 317 

seen her, and that the encounter might yet take place 
at some awkward moment. 

One evening Ellen and her mother, aided by some 
friends, joined in persuading her to play for them. 
She would rather have done anything in the world, 
conscious as she was how all eyes would be drawn 
upon her. Yet she had no motive for refusing, and 
went to the piano with a sick heart. 

There was a necessity for exertion. She made it, 
and sang a favorite Operatic Aria through w^ell. 
Everybody looked pleased, and the drawing-room 
began to fill. The ladies begged for other songs, and 
while she turned the leaves of a music book, searching 
for something, Mrs. Norton, one of Mrs. Raymond’s 
friends, bent over her with a compliment. 

Your voice is perfect, and now that we know it, 
you may expect to find yourself in demand. We 
poor pleasure seekers, look upon those possessed of 
your powers, as a godsend. Do you know, we have 
not had a single vocalist here since the little Rich- 
mond belle went away. We who are obliged to 
remain the season out, find it dull. For my part, I 
am half-starved for some good music. Be generous 
and benevolent, Mrs. Meredith, and you will find us 
a grateful people.” 

Her response was one of genial lightness. The 
little lady’s chatter had carried a dread from her 
lieart that before had weighed it down heavily. But 
now that she was sure of her absence, she could dare 
to bask in the favor with which people seemed disposed 
to receive her, and fear no humiliating results. 

She sang piece after piece with spirit and power. 


318 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

until at length, seeing that she began to weary, the 
charmed circle broke, around her, and she was merci- 
fully released. Ellen caught her arm as she took a 
seat beside her, and pinched it slily. 

‘‘ You little witch,” she whispered hurriedly. 
‘‘ There’s not a girl can stand a chance after this. All 
their noses will be out of joint ! Only think, three 
gentlemen have begged to be presented to you already. 
Oh, well may it be said, ‘Beware of the vidders.’” 

“Hush, Ellen! What nonsense!” returned Ora in 
the same low tone, looking round to see that no one 
had heard the mischievous whisper. “ Who is that 
coming this way ?” 

“ One of your conquests,” said Ellen, again, in a 
minor key. “He comes for presentation.” 

She was right. The gentleman came up and 
addressed the young lady with a significant glance, 
who, comprehending it at once, presented Ora in due 
form. Ora conquered her annoyance as best she 
could, and entered into conversation easily. The 
gentleman was highly talented, cultivated after the 
most approved style, and possessed a fund of informa- 
tion on home and foreign subjects sufiScient to make 
him a more than ordinary conversationist. Both 
soon became earnest and interested, and those about 
them dropped into silence, one by one, till they soon 
had the whole of the attention of their immediate 
circle. Ellen was delighted. Her friend was win- 
ning laurels of esteem and admiration from all, 
while her own love increased from the appreciation 
of others. The mountain was moving. Mrs. Mere- 
dith was coming back to her old footing, only on a 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


319 


more elevated scale than she had stood in Doctor 
Clitton’s family. Would the time come when she 
would find herself hurled back in disgrace, to struggle 
under the bitter tide of wrong and injustice? 


CHAPTER XXXIL 

October came in her crimson and purple glory and 
still the Raymonds were at Saratoga. The time 
passed rapidly and pleasantly to all, Ora excepted ; 
and even she was forced to yield to a certain sense 
of security and peace akin to contentment. 

Yet when talk of returning home reached her 
ears, she was rejoiced more than at anything else. 
She could never feel wholly at ease until safe from 
the possibility of meeting her enemy. 

Only a few days yet remained of their stay. Theo- 
dore proposed that they should make the most of it, 
and accordingly there were long walks, rides and 
moonlight strolls, between which times, they sang, 
played, danced and talked as all people do, bent on 
killing time and seeking enjoyment. 

Ora, in the short season she had been out, had 
unwittingly gained many admirers. Seldom did she 
sit down in the parlor or walk out without a crowd 
of friends or a host of attendants, as Theodore laugh- 
ingly asserted. He seldom attempted to get near 
her. He saw her every day, and that she was well 
cared for. Beyond that he yielded her the merest 


320 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


civilities required of him, and then seemed to ignore 
her existence. 

Always cheerful, always gay, yet she saw a 
change. Had he remembered that unfortunate 
meeting, and did it raise doubts in his mind which 
kept him aloof? Gradually he had seemed to with- 
draw from their old habits. There 'were no more 
'quiet little chats, no seeming wish either to bo near 
or avoid, yet of cool indifference ; perfect politeness 
always observed alone or with others, but no more. 
Had things been diflbrenfe she would have been glad 
of this. As it was, she feared his thoughts, his 
silence, his indifference, his politeness. The latter 
was too studied. It argued a change. 

This continued up to the last day but one of her 
stay. On the afternoon of that day she was sitting 
in the parlor of their own suite of rooms, Mrs. Hay- 
mond, Ellen and Mr. Raymond having driven oufe 
for the last time. She had declined accompanying 
them, and had taken up a book to read, when Theo- 
dore came in and accosted her lightly. 

‘‘-Alone? I thought you were out riding?’’ 

“ No, I preferred home. How is it you did not 
go?” 

“ Like you, I preferred home. I am sick of running 
about, and shall be glad to get a^vay from here. But 
you are moping yourself to death. Why do you not 
go down? There are three ‘last roses of summer ’ 
straying about the premises nursing vain hopes. I 
think I must get my friend, the proprietor, to tender 
3'ou a bill of thanks for services done him this 
season.” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


321 


‘‘ Why asked Ora, wonderingly. 

Theodore laughed. 

‘‘ Why, how innocent you are. For drawing cus- 
tom, of course. I know no less than four gentlemen 
wJio would have gone four weeks ago but for your 
powers of attraction. They could not find it in their 
hearts to leave while you remained.” 

“ Mr. Raymond !” 

He lifted his eyes from the little branch of ever- 
green he had carried with him into the room, and 
encountered her glance. A surprised look he met, 
and dignity mingled with indignation was expressed 
in every curve of face and form. 

“Well,” he laughed easily, “is there anything in 
that, that you look so proudly astonished? Ladies 
love to know themselves admired. You know your- 
self attractive, and are but receiving your due.” 

She let fall her eyes and deigned no reply. 

“ Is it not so ?” he asked in the same tone, plucking 
away at the leaves in his hand. “Now tell me 
candidly, Mrs. Meredith, what makes a woman 
happier than to feel conscious of a beauty and 
talent that may win whom she likes to her feet?” 

“What?” she lifted her face full upon him, her 
deep eyes glistening with the sudden rise of emotion. 
“What makes a woman happier than these, do you 
ask? Strange question to put to one of feeling and 
principle ! But, since you put this question, hear the 
answer. A woman, if she be a true woman, is 
happy in knowing herself regarded as something 
more than a thing of beauty and admiration — 
something to respect and esteem above caprices and 


322 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


whims, and the petty ambition of drawing others to 
her feet. To feel herself looked upon as an equal, a 
companion ; a being whose feelings and sentiments 
are respected, and whose weaknesses are free from 
the sports and jests of her associates. You cannot 
think such an ambition as you describe, when 
attained, can bring happiness, Mr. Kaymond.” 

“ I know scores that are perfectly happy with just 
such resources as we are discussing. Do you not 
feel a sense of happiness in your own power?” 

“My powder of pleasing? Yes. It tends to enable 
me to make those around me happy. I desire it — in 
a measure cultivate it. But I desire no powers to 
win me admiration. It is a duty to try to add to the 
brightness of the lives of others so far as we may. 
!No duty demands that we seek admiration which 
could affect only ourselves, and benefit no one.” 

“ I grant you that, but where will you find one 
woman in a thousand who will stop to think of others, 
if she be pretty and attractive ? She loves all the 
homage she can get too well, and will only think of 
others so far as she can use them to further her 
purposes.” 

“For one who has a mother and a sister, you take 
a severe view of the sex,” she replied, pointedly, her 
feelings of chagrin and displeasure bursting out in 
spite of herself. “ I am surprised to find you so 
uncharitable. It is unlike you.” 

“No, it is like me. You have not seen me fairly 
yet. I have seen too much flirting and coquetry 
since I have been here, not to get the old feeling 
stirred up, and this is one of the times I must let 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 323 

some of it escape. It is not good for me. I get 
sickened. Perhaps I may find one woman in a 
thousand to whose strict principles of truth and 
honor I can yield up my homage willingly — no 
more.” 

"‘Yet there are many — very many good and true.” 

“ Fewer than you think, especially among the 
fairest. They use their beauty as merchants use 
their fairest goods to attract attention. If they get 
that, they care for little else.” 

Ora smiled sightly. A light began to break in 
upon her. 

“ Perhaps you have reasons for the assertion,” she 
said. “ They may have been practising upon you, 
and touched a tender place in your heart.” 

She had said it jestingly. He looked her straight 
in the eyes and said slowly: 

“ Perhaps. You can judge best.” 

“ I ? I do not understand you ! How can I know 
who may have been playing upon your feelings till 
it has reached a point where you as good as declare 
yourself disgusted with the sex?” 

“Oh, you are a competent judge of human 
nature. I give you credit for discretion and good 
sense.” 

“Thank you. You have changed your mind 
since you asked me what more woman wished, to 
constitute happiness, than the beauty and talent to 
win admirers.” 

He got up and crossed the room to a window, 
and stood looking out for a moment. When he 
came back, he sat down near her. His whole face 


324 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

and manner were changed. He was agitated and 
eager. 

‘‘We have talked nonsense long enough,” he said. 
“ Excuse me for forcing it upon you. I did but jest. 
I came here for another purpose. Mrs. Meredith, I 
want to ask you a question. Will you answer me 

“ I will if I can rightly. What is it ?” 

“ Who is the lady you saw that day we rode out — 
the same on which mother and father came here ?” 

The sudden question turned her sick and dizzy. 
She could scarcely gasp out : 

“What reason have you for supposing I know?” 

“Enough. Your face and hers were sufficient to 
betray your knowledge of each other. There is 
knowledge and interest, peculiar and strong. I saw 
it.” 

“ And supposing it were so, have you a right to 
question its nature?” 

“ Yes, I believe I have. I want to know for the 
sake of my future peace of mind. Once I asked you 
to tell me something of yourself. You refused. 
Since that, 1 have tried to be patient, and leave you 
to tell me of your own free will. That incident 
served to increase my desire, and now I can bear it 
no longer. I must know it.” 

“ Sir !” 

“Nay, do not be offended. My happiness rests 
upon it, Mrs. Meredith, or I would not dare to do so. 
Surely, we have a right to secure this if we can.” 

“ I cannot see where it involves yours in the least,” 
she returned coldly. 

“You cannot !” His tones were passionate. “ Oh, 


ORA, THE LOST V7IB'E. 325 

can I believe you when you say this ? Where are 
your woman’s eyes and wits, that you do not catch 
the secret of my interest? I love youl I would 
know if there is any reason why 1 may not seek to 
win you. I have not dared till now, to even dream 
of uttering the truth to myself, lest there should be 
some barrier between us. But the time has gone by 
for suspense. Only tell me this — I seek to know no 
more now. Is there ought existing between you 
and any man who might seek to win your love ? 
I ask this because your conduct has taught me that 
you avoided attention from my sex, as though you 
feared evil. This fear of evil could only arise from 
some conscious barrier. Is it so, or am I in fault V 

“ You are right,” she breathed, unable to give any 
but a plain, frank answer to such a question. 

“Is it insurmountable?” His voice was thick and 
husky. 

“ It is.” 

He groaned as if in deep pain. 

“ I did not know,” he faltered, “ what strong hopes 
and feelings have sprung up, till now. You have 
given me a blow !” 

She rose to leave the room, shaking like an aspen. 

“ Do not leave me yet,” he cried in passionate 
entreaty, seizing her hand to detain her. “ Spare me 
yet a moment in which to speak to you.” 

“No, I must not,” she said positively, “you may 
be tempted to utter words I must not listen to. Let 
me go, Mr. Kaymond, and try to forget this wild 
scene !” 

“ Forget it ! I cannot, and you know it well. Tell 


326 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

me, what is it, that shuts me out hopelessly from 
your thoughts?” 

“ I cannot. Be assured that you are barred from 
me most effectually. The nature of that bar, I may 
not tell you. Mr. Eaymond, let me go. Do not add 
to my pain by prolonging this scene. My life has 
been one of sorrow. I had hoped for peace now. 
Do not destroy the last to which I cling.” 

“ God knows I would not. That you have suffered, 
I am fully aware, and it must have been deeply, to 
have made you what you are. I would I might 
shield you forever from the possibility of future 
sorrow.” 

“ Hush I I connot listen to such words I” 

She struggled to get free. 

“ What is it?” he continued. “ Tell me what it is 
that bars me from you I Do you love another ?” 

“Mr. Kaymond, cease this questioning. I have 
answered enough. Kemember our respective posi- 
tions— master and servant — no more. I am your paid 
subordinate, and as far beyond your reach as the 
North Star. Do not pursue this painful subject 
farther. It must end I” 

She wrenched her hand from his grasp and swept 
from the room to shut herself up in an agony of 
grief and alarm, while he turned away, his manly 
heart full of a wild, bitter and rebellious feeling new 
to him. Leaving the place, he wandered away, 
across the fields to a little belt of woods, where he 
threw himself upon the grass sprinkled with the 
bright autumn leaves, and lay brooding bitterly till 
darkness sheltered all Nature with one sable robe. 


CHAFIER XXXIIL 

It was after nine o’clock when Theodore returned 
to the hotel. Ellen and Mrs. Raymond were in their 
parlor. Ora was not to be seen. He supposed she 
was in her room, and took a seat silently. Too much 
occupied with his own thoughts, he had paid no atten- 
tion to what they were sa3dng when he came in — - 
did not heed them now till Mrs. Raymond called 
to him across the room. 

“ Come here my son, I want you.” 

He rose slowly and approached her. 

“ Well, mother, what is it?” 

Mrs. Raymond looked up at him quickly. 

“ What is the matter with you, my boy? Are you 
not well ? You are quite pale and look worn,” she 
cried in concern. 

“There is nothing the matter with me. I am 
quite well, I assure you. A little dull, perhaps, but 
no more,” he replied, anxious to allay her fears and 
put an end to unpleasant questions. “Hid you wish 
to tell me something particular?” 

“ Yes, but I fancied as you came up, that you had 
heard it already, you look so gloomy and disturbed. 
Have you heard nothing unpleasant?” 

“Anything unpleasant, in what way? Ho you 
speak of anything concerning myself or all of us — ■ 
or is it anything about us at all ?” he asked in per- 
( 327 ) 


828 


vORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


plexity, his thoughts ranging upon his interview 
with Mrs. Meredith* 

‘‘ About Ellen,” answered Mrs. Kaynioud, compres' 
sing her lips while Ellen dropped her face in her 
hands. Instantly his brow hushed. He saw that 
something was wrong to afiect them in such a striking 
manner. 

“ What is it, and who has been speaking of her ?” 
he demanded sternly. 

“ Do not allow yourself to get excited,” returned 
Mrs. Raymond. It is a woman and you can do 
nothing. A stranger to us all. That is the most 
singular tiling about the affair. How could she learn 
so much of our history? I never saw the woman 
before to-night in my life, and yet she seems to 
possess a thorough knowledge of -everything that 
concerns us — even our most private affairs.” 

‘‘ How did you learn this ? Who is the stranger?” 
demanded Theodore. 

I don’t know who she is, I am sure. She seems 
to have been here before, from what I could gather 
from a conversation I overheard between her and a 
gentleman in the parlor. She is tall, very slender, 
with dark eyes and hair. Very pretty and very 
stylish in her appearance. Ellen says she thinks she 
saw her here before we came, on horseback, but is 
not quite sure. I am inclined to think so. Slie must 
liave been here before, and some busybody informed 
her all she repeated so volubly. It is a shame ! I 
cannot get over it. Who of our acquaintances here 
is it that has made such free use of our names to 
strangers ?” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 329 

“What is it that was said?” asked Theodore 
impatiently. “ I am all in the dark as yet. Explain 
yourself mother.” 

“ Softly ! give me time, my son. It happened this 
■way : 

“ When we returned from our drive, after changing 
our dress, we went into the parlor, and Ellen sat 
down by Mrs. Tyler, while I, feeling a little tired, 
went into a window near b}", but just back of them, 
and drawing the curtains, sat still, looking out. 

“ I had been there perhaps ten minutes, when a 
lady and gentleman came in and sat down near me, 
and their conversation turned at once upon Ellen. I 
could not help hearing every word, though they 
spoke in a low tone. 

“ ‘ Do you know that young lady ?’ asked the 
gentleman, indicating your sister by a slight nod. 
She laughed and answered lightly. 

“ ‘ Yes, it is a Miss Kaymond. At least she is called 
so, though she is married. I believe her husband 
proved a villain, and deserted her. A fit punishment 
for disobedience, I suppose we may say. It was a 
runaway match. The father, who is a minister, 
opposed it bitterly, and discarded her in consequence. 
It is but lately that they were reconciled. I assure 
you, it is quite an interesting little romance.’ 

“‘Indeed! She is pretty,’ remarked the gentle- 
man with a tone of interest. 

“ ‘ Yes, she is quite handsome. But her companion 
is handsomer. Do you see that tall lady just beyond 
her, with a book in her hand. That is her companion. 
I believe she nursed lier through a dangerous illness. 

28 


330 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


I have heard the whole history. After the husband 
deserted her, the brother brought her home secretly 
and took care of her. It was then this lady was 
engaged. They came here, and a little while after- 
ward, the parents came. The presence of their 
daughter was unknown to them till a dangerous 
illness of the father’s brought it to light. They 
thought him dying and she was brought to him. 
The consequence was a reconciliation, and a return 
of the young lady to her former position. For my 
part,’ the lady here said confidentially, ‘I cannot 
understand how she can bear to come before the 
world again after such unpleasant circumstances. 
A discarded daughter — deserted wife ! She must 
have a good stout heart as the Dutchman says, to 
endure it. She has, since the revelation, furnished 
food for gossip for everybody here. They must 
know how people regard the affair. How can they 
come into society in the manner they have done ? 
One would think they would seclude themselves 
rigidly.’” 

Here,” continued Mrs. Haymond, “ she con- 
descended to stop, and 1 left the window. I went 
straight to Ellen, excused her to Mrs. Tyler, and 
brouglit her out. 1 could not bear the thought of 
her sitting under the scathing criticism of this daring 
stranger. Oh, it has hurt me more than 1 can tell! 
How foolish we have been to stay here I” 

Aye 1” cried Theodore, pausing in a rapid pace 
across the room. “The fault is ours! We have 
been fools to run this risk of scandal. We are not 
ignorant of the world’s habit of handling people’s 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


331 


names, and should have shielded ourselves by going 
home and staying there.” 

“ But, brother, you forget papa’s health,” put in 
Ellen. ‘‘ It was necessary to remain on his account.” 

“ Then w^e ought to have shunned society.” 

“I agree with you,” answered Mrs. Eaymond^ 
“ but we scarcely thought any friends w’e had here 
would handle our names so freely. Old, valued 
acquaintances, wdio ought to look over the follies of 
youth, and be silent concerning them.” 

“ Who ever heard of people doing that ?” aspirated 
Theodore, angrily. ‘‘I can tell you, mother, there’s 
no one to be trusted wdth affairs that touch us in a 
tender point. The safest way is to keep aloof from 
everybody, and guard one’s own interests silently. I 
am exasperated to think of this affair, though it is 
nothing wonderful, when we remember the cause ; on 
the contrary, it is quite natural.” 

He turned abruptly and left the room, his thoughts 
in tumult. That his sister was the subject of gossip 
for strangers, w^as enough to upset his usual equa- 
nimity, even had he no other cause. But this, 
combined wdth his personal disquiet, made him 
savage. 

“ Who can this woman be that is meddling herself 
thus in our affairs,” he commented inly. ‘‘ I’ll lind 
out, if possible. She is most too ready with her 
information. Where could she have got such minute 
particulars ? I wmnder — ” 

His cogitations were cut short by an apparition 
that stopped him short in his way down the hall. A 
door on the right w^as hastily opened, and Mrs. 


332 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


Meredith, came out, both hands clasped over her 
bosom. Her face was pallid, her eyes wild. A 
slender ligure was behind her in the door way, and 
sent a mocking laugh after the retreating form of her 
visitor, for visitor she doubtless was, since she had 
emerged from her room. Theodore recognized the 
Richmond belle in his brief glimpse of her, and a 
thought flaslied through his brain. 

“ Could Mrs. Meredith have informed her of their 
history in such detail? She knew it, and that there 
was a mystery between them, he knew already. He 
had no doubt of the person whose insulting gossip 
his mother had overheard. She was at the Springs 
when they came there, and had remained sometime. 
The incident of Ora’s fright on first seeing her — her 
subsequent meeting in the wood — evorjthing came 
back vividly. He had never forgotten them, but had 
given up his endeavor to unravel the mystery for the 
time being. Now all the old interest was awakened. 
He was angry and determined to get at the bottom 
of it. 

On seeing him, the stranger closed her door, and 
he confronted Ora haughtily. 

Mrs. Meredith, a word with you, if you please, 
ere you join my mother,” he said command ingly. 

She drew back surprised, and haughty as himself, 
though trembling in every limb. 

“ You must excuse me. I cannot speak with you 
here. It is not a time or a fitting place, even were I 
inclined to grant the request.” 

“ I do not wish the interview here. Come with me 
out a little wa}^ I must speak with you.” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE, 333 

Impossible ! Suffer me to pass, Mr. Kajmond. 
1 have no time to spare.” 

'• I will nut. You must hear what I have to say,” 
lie returned, drawing her arm within his own, and 
turning to descend the stairs. ‘‘ I will not detain you 
long.” 

“ This is an outrage, sir !” broke from Ora as he 
drew her along, almost forcibly. “ I have a great 
mind to call for assistance.” 

“ Be still,” he said in a low, determined tone. 
‘‘ Don’t attract useless attention. I am not going to 
murder you.” 

She was panting with passionate rebellious feeling, 
but he was heedless of the fact, and conducted her 
out of the house, entering a secluded walk and pro- 
ceeding some distance to escape observation. Ora 
here broke loose from his grasp and stood before 
him. 

“ Tell me the meaning of this, sir ! You have 
taken a most unwarrantable liberty in thus forcing 
an interview upon me. I thought the matter at an 
end.” 

“ Do not mistake me !” he replied coolly. “ I am 
not going to repeat my declaration of love to you, be 
assured. I am now endeavoring to fathom this 
mystery between yourself and that woman I saw 
with 3rou a moment since. You refused to tell me 
once to-day, but now I repeat the request. What is 
she to you, and why should you repeat to her the 
sad history of my sister’s unfortunate marriage? I 
am puzzled to understand how it could benefit you tp 
recount it to an utter stranger.” 


334 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE, 


I repeat an^ytliiiisj concerning 3’onr sister to her? 
you are mistaken, Mr. Raymond. Such a thought 
never entered my mind. What authority have you 
in making tlie accusation ? ” 

“ Her thorough knowledge of the aifair, and your 
secret intercourse with her. I can come to no other 
conclusion, flow came you to tell her of our aifaiis. 
Who is she, that she cares to know and repeat 
them?” 

“ Sir, you insult me with the question ! Have I 
not told you I did not repeat anything to her? As 
for secret intercourse, I deny that also ; I never spoke 
to her till this night, and then she forced the inter- 
view upon me by drawing me into her room. Your 
names were not mentioned once. Mr. Raymond, you 
are acting a cruelly unkind part by me,” she conti- 
nued in a calmer tone. I am in an agony of dread 
and suspense. I must return at once to the house. 
Do not misconstrue me further. I ana the last one to 
injure one of your family, or to betray a confidence 
reposed in me, as you would believe.” 

“But what am I to think of all this? You will 
make no explanation. Why do you refuse to tell me 
who this woman is? It were better for you to 
explain than to lay yourself open to condemnation 
and suspicion.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Raymond, why will you persecute me?” 
she cried suddenly, wringing her hands. “ I sliall go 
crazy ! That woman has been the bane of my life — 
poisoned my whole existence — brought me to the 
friendless, helpless condition you see me in now. 
Do not ask me how. I cannot tell you. But she is 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 335 

my bitter enemy, know that — and 1 hate — oh, I kata 
her as I would hate a fiend incarnate.” 

Was this Ora Meredith — this personification of 
wrath that stood before him — her hands locked — her 
frame trembling— hissing the words tlirough her shut 
teeth with the intensity of an overpowering emotion % 
Theodore could scarcely realize the truth, and she 
stood beating one foot passionately upon the ground, 
while his gaze penetrated the gloom to read her face. 

“Mr. Eaymond,” she added suddenly and eagerly 
as a new thought jseemed to strike her, “you to day 
expressed an affection for me which I was forced to 
put coldly from me. I did not wish to give you 
pain, and do not now. I cannot help it if 1 have 
done so. A cruel Fate pursues me. I am safe and 
at rest nowhere. As soon as I find a little haven 
where I fancy I may be in peace, I am driven forth 
more utterly wretched. Oh, it is hard, hard ! Now 
I must leave you as I have left every one else who 
was kind to me, and gave me a peaceful home. I 
beg of you to help me. Get me off by this night’s 
train. You can help me. I must not wait till 
to-morrow !” 

“ But why to night ? You must be mad. There is 
not an hour to get ready in before the cars leave. 
How could you go, and why should you? We all 
expect you to return to the city with us,” cried 
Theodore, in amazement. 

“ Hut, I cannot, I cinnot wait,” she replied vehe- 
mently. “ Oh, if I stay here, I shall go mad ! He 
is coming to morrow, will be here before we could 
leave, and I dare not meet him. Ah, Mr. Kaymond, 


33G 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


if you knew how I suffered, you would pity me ! Do 
not think me rash or mad. I am quite sane, but I 
shall not be long, if this continues.” 

He saw that she was wild with excitement, and 
pitied lier. His tones were kind and gentle when he 
replied : 

“ But this is an extraordinary proceeding, Mrs. 
Meredith. How am I to account to my friends for 
your departure if you go ?” 

“ Oh, I don’t know ! Anyway you think proper. 
I must go ! I must^ I tell you ! 1 must go now, or I* 

will be too late !” 

Sl)e was turning from him, but he caught her arm 
and held her fast. 

“Not yet. One word more, Ora. Why should 
you go ?” 

“ Why ? Did I not tell you some one was coming 
whom 1 did not want to see ? I cannot see him. It 
will kill me.” 

“ Whom do you mean ? Tell me Ora. I will be 
your friend.” 

lie held her tightly, and in an agony of impatience 
she struggled to get free. But his calm, kind tones 
arrested her efforts. A change of feeling rushed 
over lier instantly. 

“ I will tell you,” she uttered desperately. “ It 
will put an end to some things lean no longer strug- 
gle against. The man who is to be here is my 
husband. That woman came between him and me 
nearly six years ago. She has wrecked my life. I 
could not bear to know myself neglected for her. It 
drove me mad, and I left him. Since then my life 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 337 

has been one of toil and suffering. Now you under- 
stand the mystery between us. You understand why 
I paled and shook at tlie sight of her. I could never 
forget. Her face will live in my memory till death, 
and tlie sight of it will madden me yet. To-niglit 
she stood in her door as I came by, and suddenly 
caught my arm before I had noticed her, drawing 
me within. I will not repeat the scene that followed. 
She mocked and taunted me, and said he was coming 
after her to-morrow. My God, can I stay to see 
iiim by her side again — to live over something of 
the old agony and shame of years pastl No, I will 
not. Once I would have cut my tongue out before I 
would have told you thisl How could I bear to tell 
you such a tale of humiliation, and feel that you 
pitied me ! But now, desperation has driven me 
beyond my pride. I want only to escape him. You 
iiavc promised to be my friend. I have told you 
how much I need one, in the story of m^^ wrongs. 
Will you be that friend, or willymu retract?” 

“ I will be your friend,” he responded, huskily. 
Trust mo, Mrs. Meredith. I thank you for your confi- 
dence. Would you had told me long ago, when I 
first asked you. It would have spared us both much 
pain, and I should not have insulted you with ‘pity.’ 
However, it is all past now. I will help you all I 
can. Whei’e do you wish to go .? Back to the city ?” 

“Yes. But I can never come to you again. I 
shall find something to do, someway. All I want is 
to keep out of his sight, for I could not bear it He 
must not know where to look for me.” 

“ Will you answer me one question more, Mrs. 


338 


OEA, THE LOST WIFE. 


Meredith ?” lie asked tremulously, but striving to 
quiet his tones to a steadiness hiding the interest he 
felt in her reply. 

“ What is it 

“ Do you — do you love your husband still 

“ Love him !” she uttered passionately, snatching 
her hand from his arm. ‘‘ Love him still ! Wh I I 
hate him as I do her I I have regarded him for years 
as unworthy my love, but still excused him some- 
what, till within the last year. When I saw my child 
die, I vowed solemnly never again to cherish a lenient 
thought toward him. He was hei' murderer! He 
has more than murdered — outraged, scorned, insulted 
me ! How could I love him 

He drew her arm within his once more in silence, 
and they turned toward the house. Presently he 
said : 

“ I will help you off as you desire, but you will 
communicate with me in the city V 

“ Ho, no ! I cannot.” 

‘‘ Why ? I may be able to help you in some way. 
You will need a friend in your friendless situation, 
and I promise you to be true and faithful. Let me 
prove to you that I can be one, independent of in- 
terested motives. I now understand fully how widely 
we are separated. I will not distress you with my 
professions of love. Only let me befriend you, as I 
would have any one befriend my sister. Will you not 
promise this ? I cannot let you go away so forlornly.” 

She hesitated, then gave him the promise of 
informing him of her whereabouts. He thanked 
her and added : 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 339 

“ One thing more. Yon cannot go away in the 
clandestine manner yon contemplate. Yon must let 
my mother and Ellen know 4t. Take leave of them 
as yon would of yonr best friends, and leave me to 
explain to them.” 

They entered the house, and Theodore led her 
lip stairs. 

“ You have but little time to wait,” he said. “ Go 
to your room, get your things ready, and I will 
prepare them for your departure. Do not fear. All 
will go well, and none but ourselves will know that 
you are gone.” 

He opened her door from the corridors, and she 
entered, thanking him gratefully. In a little while 
she had packed away the few things that were left 
out, and put on her things. She had scarcely 
finished when the porter knocked at her door, atid 
asked for her trunk. Then she turned toward the 
parlor, a sickening dread upon her spirits. What 
would they say? What could they think of this 
strange flight? She could hear their voices plainly, 
as if in discussion, Theodore’s above the rest, 
firm, strong, manly. 

Two or three times her hand rested upon the door 
before she could muster courage to enter. When 
she did so, her heart beat heavily. 

All of them were there. Ellen rose at once, and 
came up, putting her arms affectionately around her 
neck. 

“ I am so sorry to lose you,” she said. “So sorry 
that any trouble should call you away thus un- 
expectedly. But you must not forget us. You 


340 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

have been a kind, good friend, and we will love yon 
always.” 

Ora’s grateful tears fell fast over the bright young 
head, laid lovingly against her neck in a larcwell 
embrace. She had not expected this. She looked 
for surprise, distrust, perhaps anger. 

Mrs. Kaymond held out her hand and kissed her 
cheek. She looked bewildered, but asked no ques- 
tions. Expressed herself grateful for the kind care 
her daughter had received at her hands, and bade 
her remember them as her friends. Mr. Eaymond’s 
manner was less cordial, more bewildered, but not 
distrustful. The leave taking was not half so bad as 
slie had feared, and she took Theodore’s arm in 
inexpressible relief, when he presented it, to see her 
to the cars. 

“ You will not forgot y?)ur promises,” he said 
gravely, as he seated her in the carriage and placed a 
card in her hand,“ This is my address, and be sure 
to let me know as soon as I get to town, where you 
are. I have put what I ow^e you in this little purse. 
In your haste, you forgot I was indebted, to yon, and 
you may need it. Farewell. Do not forget I am 
your friend — always your friend to command.” 

For one moment he held her hand in both of his, 
reluctant to say good bye. But time was up, and 
why detain her. Five minutes later the cars w^ere 
speeding away, and he stood alone under the quiet 
stars, miserable, half bewildered, and heart-sick. 

When he returned to their rooms, all were eager 
for an explanation. At first he had told them only 
that sudden, unexpected and distressing news had 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


341 


called lier hence immediately, and bade them control 
their curiosity till she had gone. They must ask her 
no questions. lie would explain as soon as he could 
get time. Now he sat down quietly, and told them 
in distinct terms what had occurred, and in such a 
manner as to enlist their feelings in her favor. He 
knew it was best to give them the truth. An excuse 
M'ould have served only to excite suspicion. So the 
true state of afiairs was known, and the Kaymonds 
were her fast friends. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Back and forth beneath the trees where he had 
stood with Ora, paced Theodore Raymond. The 
quiet stars looked serenely upon him through the 
purpling foliage, and a low wind sighed softly 
around. But there was peace in neither for his 
troubled heart. He had fathomed the mystery at last ! 
Had it brought him happiness? Here knowledge 
had stabbed him with a stab keener than the blow 
of an assassin, and ho could ndt turn and resent it. 
It was his own work. He had wrung from her in lier 
desperation, that which the proud lips for years 
refused to utter. Poor Ora. No need to be told that 
she liad suffered. He could read a whole history of 
woe in t!ie brief, passionate words that still rang in 
his ears. Her look of inexpressible misery; her 
passionate, trembling tones haunted him as a night- 


342 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


mare. He felt as if he should never be able to 
banish them from his memory. 

The picture he had seen that evening as she rushed 
from the stranger’s room, rose up before him a 
hundred times in bitter reproach, as his footsteps 
beat a slow and regular measure to his stern self- 
examination. The fair and beautiful face of the 
woman as she stood in the doorway — the red lips 
wreathed in derision — her low, mocking laugh float- 
ing through the corridor — Ora’s choking fear as she 
sprang forward like a hunted deer — her white lips 
quivering — her blue eyes wild with agony ! And 
yet in that very moment he had confronted her in 
his anger and resentment, and had insulted her with 
an accusation humiliating to her high and lofty prin- 
ciples ! He could have bitten his tongue to pieces 
for having uttered such words to her at that mo- 
ment ! The remembrance stung him till he ground 
his heel into the earth in passionate self-reproach, 
and denounced himself as a fool and pitiful coward. 

Still, the revelation of this night had proved a 
blessing. He could understand and appreciate her 
now ; and he could also see the ground on which 
he himself stood. No more would he have to walk 
forward blindly. A painful light was suddenly 
thrown across his path, and he- saw that it led through 
loneliness and gloom. 

Dawning day found liim still out in the open air. 
Ho felt as if he could not breathe within the walls 
of his chamber. So he sat down upon a bench and 
watched the darkness fade away, while the gray 
dawn crept slowly over slumbering Nature, and 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 343 

unsealed her eyes to look upon the glory of the New 
Day. 

Brighter grew the light of morning. The golden 
sun rose majestically and flushed the east with a 
crimson glory, spreading his bright rays abroad over 
the varied scenes of earth, and lighting them into a 
splendor and magniflcence beyond the power of 
mortal to express. 

A long time he sat there. The hum of life rose 
all around him ere he rose and sought his chamber, 
though it was only for a change of dress, that his 
friends might not see a mark of carelessness by 
which his night vigil might be betrayed. 

At the breakfast hour he joined his family as 
usual. Little was said except about their return 
liome. Once Ellen reverted to Ora’s departure and 
its cause, but he quieted her. 

“ Remember this is in confidence, Ellen, and 
should not be openly discussed. Nothing but a 
feeling of desperation could have driven her to 
reveal her wrongs, and we ought not openly to canvass 
them. Think what you will, but it were better to 
say nothing.” 

She accepted the reproof silently and conversation 
turned upon other topics. 

‘‘ By the way,” said Theodore, as he rose from the 
table, “ Have you any objections, any of you, to my 
remaining for the evening train?” 

‘‘Why?” asked his father. 

“ Because, if not, I prefer to go on to-night. I 
have some little things I want to do before I go.” 

“I cannot imagine what you have found just at 


344 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


this time to detain you,” remarked Mr. Raymond in 
thoughtful surprise. “ You were ready to go yes- 
terday.” 

So I was, father, hut last night’s event has 
changed my plans. It is connected with this sudden 
departure of Mrs. Meredith, and I am anxious to 
stay over to-day for my own satisfaction. You will 
not object ?” 

Why, no. But it seems you take a great deal of 
interest in the matter.” 

“ Indeed I do, sir. Mrs. Meredith, besides being 
a lady, and a kind, faithful friend to my sister, is a 
lonely, suffering woman, and I would befriend her 
in return for all she has done for us. She needs it. 
Heaven knows.” 

“ How can you do anything — what can you do 
questioned Mrs. Raymond. 

“ What circumstances must determine, mother,” 
he replied, gravely. I cannot tell you what I 
propose even, now. You shall learn when I get 
home, however. You can go on this morning. I 
will only be a few hours behind you. My baggage 
can go through with yours, and I shall not be troubled 
with it.” 

“ Kind !” laughed Ellen. ‘‘ All the baggage you’ve 
got would harass you tenibly. It is well to shift its 
responsibility upon us.” 

“Then I am to understand there is no objection?” 
said Theodore, without heeding her. 

“None of consequence,” replied his father. “If 
you want to stay, do so, but be sure to come on the 
next train.” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 345 

Theodore saw them started, and then sauntered off 
leisurely. His object in remaining was to see wliat 
strangers arrived, and to endeavor to find out whether 
Ora’s recreant husband was really coming for her 
rival. 

Only three came on the morning train. Two were 
gentlemen, one a lady. In looking over the register 
he found their names : “ A. Scott and lady ‘‘ E. 
Piercelie.” Could this be the man ? If so, he had 
assumed a name to cover his presence. The next 
thing, however, was to ascertain which one of the 
newly arrived gentlemen bore the name, and direct 
his observations accordingly. 

A little while later, the clerk accosted him as he 
passed by the office. 

“Mr. Kaymond, a gentleman has just been en- 
quiring for Mrs. Meredith — did she return with your 
family? 

“ No. She preceded them. Who is the gentle- 
man ?” he asked, feeling assured that he was on the 
right track, and that it was Ora’s recreant husband, 
truly. Yet if he was there under an assumed name, 
and seeking to conceal it from her, why inquire for 
his wife as soon as he arrived. Some thought of 
mischief on the woman’s part entered his mind, but 
scarcely had time to form itself into a definite shape. 

“His name is Piercelie, and he is a stranger just 
in,” responded the clerk. “ I told him she was gone, 
and promised to get her address from you.” 

“ I do not know it,” answered Theodore, quietly. 
“She is no longer in our family, having voluntarily 
withdrawn, since my sister’s recovery.” 


346 ORA, THE LOST WIFE*. 

‘‘Then you cannot give me the information lie 
desires?” 

“ Of course not, since I do not myself know where 
she has gone.” 

“ Then I will say as much to him,” said the clerk, 
taking up his pen, and Theodore strayed about the 
oflSce for sometime, hoping he might come back to 
make further inquiry. Where was he now? Up 
stairs, doubtless, with the woman he came to see. 
“The witch has completely enthralled him, I sup- 
pose,” he muttered. 

“ The day passed fruitlessly as regarded the success 
of his object. No further inquires were made, and 
the stranger was invisible. The time was fast 
approaching when he must give over his watch, and 
he felt annoyed at not having seen Mr. Piercelie, 
that he might himself judge of his character by his 
face. He had a suspicion that the woman had been 
playing off some- trick on the poor wife, and might 
not have uttered the truth — a suspicion the inquiry 
of the morning tended somewhat to encourage. But 
while he stood musing upon the matter, the light 
patter of footsteps and little peals of laughter behind 
him, warned him of the syren’s presence, and he 
looked around quickly. 

She came forward habited for traveling, leaning 
upon the arm of a gay, handsomely dressed young 
man, whose laugh mingled with hers. Theodore’s 
hot blood boiled as he saw him bend his head 
towards her with those wreathing smiles, as if fear- 
ing to lose a word or tone of her voice. Could Ora 
ever have loved a man like that? Surely, she must 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


347 


have been beside herself, or a child who knew not 
what to accept as worthy a true woman’s devotion. 
He was one of the most insignificant of beings, 
having nothing but his dress to recommend him. 
Ilis face was insipid — his drawling tones silly and 
foppish. “ Could that man have been her husband — 
once loved and honored 

Another lady and gentleman followed. “ Mr. and 
Mrs. Scott,” thought the young man as they passed. 
A girlish, gentle face, a slight figure and ladylike 
manners were distinguishable, while the gentleman, 
a grave, dignified looking man, walked at her side 
thoughtfully, his eyes roving about aimlessly over 
the little crowd. He had no eyes for them, however. 
A passing glance satisfied him. The others engrossed 
all his attention. 

He got into the same car, and took a seat near 
them. They still laughing and chatting gaily about 
everything but her. But never once did the sound 
of her name reach him. They had ignored her 
existence. Wrapped up in themselves, they thought 
of nothing beside. 

At Albany he lost sight of them when they entered 
the boat, but he had seen enough. If dim resolves 
liad been struggling to shape themselves in his 
mind before, they faded now utterly. He could 
never expect to find any good in a man like that, 
and the thought of a reconciliation in which he 
might interest himself, in case Ora had been de- 
ceived, made him laugh. Had she not declared 
she hated him? Well she might, were he not an 
object too pitiful for so strong an emotion. He 


348 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

seemed, to liis prejudiced eyes, only fit for scorn and 
contempt. 

Three or four days passed away after his return, 
ere Ora fulfilled her promise. Then a note was put 
into his hands, which informed him of her retreat. 
She had sought a distant part of The city, where she 
had taken refuge for a few days until she could find 
a situation, and if he wished to see her, he was at 
liberty to call at any time suited best to his conve- 
nience. 

Ho lost no time in availing himself of that permis- 
sion, taking Ellen with him to prove their continued 
friendship and interest, and to show her how earnest- 
ly he meant to adhere to his promise, independent 
of interested motives. 

They found her looking pale and wan. Trouble 
was telling on her fast now. Her tones faltered 
painfull}^, and her hands shook in their grasp as she 
greeted them. She appeared restless, feverish, and 
half wild, throughout the whole interview. Their 
fears for her health were roused at once, and he said 
decidedly : 

‘‘You are not well, and must come home with us 
till you are strong again. This will never do. We 
must take care of you. It is only right, and we will 
hear no refusal.” 

Ellen joined him eagerly, but Ora shook her head 
sadly. 

“ I have no right to trespass upon you. I should 
be an intruder, and feel worse than to remain here. 
I thank you, but cannot accept your kind offer.” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


349 


“ Indeed you can, and must,” asserted Ellen, posi- 
tively. “ AVe shall all be glad to have you, and if 
you fall ill, which you look inclined to do, I will be 
your little nurse.” 

“ But how would your mother like such hasty 
arrangements,” returned Ora, striving to speak 
lightly. “ She would not thank me for usurping your 
time, I feel assured.” 

“ Not thank you ! She will feel delighted to 
think I am making some return for what you did for 
me. Do come home with me. I will take nice care 
of you.” 

“Thank you, but indeed I cannot.” 

Ora was positive now. She was thinking of the 
time when she had sought the father’s aid, and he 
had turned her coldly from him without even a word 
of sympathy or encouragement. She felt it impos- 
sible ever to go across the threshold of his home 
again. He had forgotten her, but she could never 
forget. Past cruelty had left its sting. Now, even 
had she the right they asserted, she would not accept 
his hospitality. 

“ Suppose you should fall ill here amongst utter 
strangers,” said Theodore, still urging the point. 
“You may not get proper attention.’^ 

“ Then I can die,” she answered drearily. “ After 
all, it would be the sweetest boon I could ask. There 
is no more peace for me here.” 

“ Do not despair thus,” he returned. “ A man 
like the one you called husband, is not worth such 
sorrow as you feel. He deserves only your con- 
tempt.” 


350 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


Slic looked up quickly, a crimson flush spreading 
over her pale face. 

“Why do you say this to me?” she asked haugh- 
tily. “ You are the last one to speak disparagingly 
of him. ■ I should think some delicacy of feeling 
would seal your lips on such a subject.” 

“ Do not mistake me, Mrs. Meredith. I speak only 
from personal observation, without any other motive 
than to comfort you. My family know the whole 
affair. I have told them, that you may be justified 
and befriended. I have brought nay sister to prove 
it to you, and assure you most solemnly I had no 
other thought.” 

His tones were so full of earnest and anxious 
meaning, Ellen was puzzled to understand them. 
Ora, however, bowed silently, and nothing further 
was said on the subject. They remained but a short 
time after this, and Ellen took an affectionate leave, 
saying she would come again very soon. 

As soon as they were gone. Ora went to her room 
and put on her bonnet and cloak. Every day since 
her return, she had visited Ada’s grave, and she was 
going to it now. She had done little else than weep, 
and brood over her troubles, and half the time it 
was upon the little mound that covered all she loved 
on earth. 

Drawing her veil over her face, she wended her 
way to the Cemetery sadly. The sexton held the 
gate open for lier to pass in, turning to look after her 
as she glided among the tombs to that little grave in 
the distant corner beneath the trees. She had made 
her last visit the evening previous, and had knelt 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


351 


down beside the simple stone, resting her hot face 
upon the narrow block of marble that bore tlie one 
sweet name she might yet utter without a sting of 
shame. Now, in the place of that little stone, was a 
handsome head piece, surrounded by a wreath of 
half-open buds, and bearing upon the side the form 
of an angel just lifting her snowy wings towards the 
heavens — its burthen the spirit of a little child. 
Clear, large letters standing out on the pure surface^ 
gave tangible utterance to the cry of her inmost soul : 
‘‘ My Lost Ada.” Who had done this ? What 
friendly hand had placed it there, and hung over the 
top a festoon of natural flowers ? Her heart swelled 
and throbbed tumultuously! There was but one 
person who could have remembered her dead. That 
was Theodore Kaymond. What had prompted him 
to do this? A simple desire to gratify her most 
sacred wishes in regard to her child 

She could scarcely think in her surprise, and sat 
down, bewildered and uncertain. 

“ Oh, Ada 1 Yes, my lost darling,” she cried, 
bending her face to the green sod. “ What have I 
left to me now? And yet,” she added desperately, 
after a moment’s pause, “ I would not recall you — 

no not for worlds. Even in my loneliness, I thank 

God that He has spared you, my little blossom ! An 
angel of Heaven, thou wilt wait me there, my baby 1 
At least there is something to look forward to in the 
future 1 An hour Avhen the grave shall receive mo 
kindly, and we shall be reunited, never to part.” 

‘‘And does not that thought comfort you?” said a 
voice near her. “ Surely it were enough to strengthen 


852 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


US ill all tlie trials of life—that meeting beyond this 
‘ vale of tears’ where there shall be no more sorrow I” 

She looked up to find Theodore Eaymond by her 
side, his hat raised reverently — his noble forehead 
bared and uplifted toward that heaven where his 
eyes seemed to seek a glimpse of that land he 
pictured. 

Oh, Mr. Raymond! you here ?” she falterech “ I 
did not know you were near. Yet I am glad,” she 
added as she rose to her feet. ‘"I wanted to speak 
about this — ” pointing to the head stone. “ I am so 
surprised and bewildered, I do not know what to 
think. Was it you who did it?” 

He could not evade a positive answer, even had 
he wished it so he smiled quietly, and replied in 
his frank, earnest manner which was so winning: 

“ Yes, it was I who did it, my friend. I knew 
that it would be your wish to arrange something of 
this kind, and 1 rightly judged that you would come 
here often. The day I came home I selected this and 
had the lines cut in it. To-day it was brought here 
by my order, and placed over the grave. You must 
forgive me the liberty, Mrs. Meredith. It has given 
me much pleasure to do this in remembrance of one 
so dear to you ; and I felt that no tribute of grati- 
tude on my part, for past kind services from you, 
could be as acceptable as this.” 

“But this is too kind. You lay me under obliga- 
tion for so much.” 

“ On the contrary you must allow me to say that 
it is I— and all dear to me, who are under obligation 
to you.” 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 353 

“ No, no, how can that be ? You have paid me 
well for all I have been able to do — more than 
paid me in kindness and regard. I feel over- 
whelmed with this favor. Indeed, I wish you had 
not done it !” 

Her look of distress was sincere and Theodore 
hastened to say : 

“ Pray, pray do not look upon it in the light of a 
favor. I have done it as I would have done any- 
thing for Ellen which I thought would gratify her.” 

She was not satisfied. He saw it by her look, and 
divined something of her feelings, as she stood with 
the air of uncertainty and bewilderment which had 
not left her since the discovery. It was a delicate 
matter to venture a reference to the past, else he 
would have assured her of his sympathy apart from 
his love. He would have told her to forget that he 
had ever made the declaration of a warmer sentiment 
than mere friendship, and in trusting his truth and 
honor, allow him a friend’s privileges. 

But this he must not utter. He could only murmur 
a sorrowful regret for having pained her. 

“No, no; it is not that, exactly. You have not 
pained me — but I feel perplexed and embarrassed. 
I cannot let you do such things for me. I could not 
accept gifts like this from you, and it will be a long 
time ere lam able to pay you what this cost.” 

“Pray, say no more about it,” pleaded Theodore, 
pained beyond measure to find his efibrt to gratify 
her, met in such a manner. He had not thought of 
the view slie might take of it, when he obeyed the 
impulse he had conceived, to have the tombstone 
30 


354 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


placed there. “ If,” he added, “ you ever feel able to 
spare the trifle I expended upon it, for your own 
satisfaction, I will not refuse to take it But you 
must give yourself no trouble or inconvenience. I 
may never want a dollar of it, and it were better 
used thus, than lying useless or thrown away.” 

‘‘I thank you,” she replied giving him her hand 
while large tears coursed slowly down her cheeks. 
“You are so kind and thoughtful, I ought not to pain 
you with such rebellious pride. Yet I cannot help 
it Do not think me ungrateful.” 

Gathering shadows were advancing, and fell over 
the sable robes that rustled so softly near him ; and 
as he looked into her sad face and felt the tremulous 
motion of the little hands he clasped, a longing 
impulse to draw the poor weary head upon his breast, 
rose mightily in his heart But he must choke it 
down — give no utterance to the wish, even by a 
sigh. She was the wife of another, and the tie, 
though false and cruel, was as binding as though she 
had been the loved and loving object that could 
make the union between them perfect. Must this 
last forever? Must he always stand aloof, loving 
her with his whole soul, seeing her lonely, and 
wretched, and not permitted to comfort her? See 
her toil, and not be able to relieve her of care? 
Passionate resentment against such a life filled his 
soul. He felt that he must speak out against it. It 
overmastered every thought beside, and still clasping 
the tiny fingers, he gave utterance to his feelings, in 
spite of the prudent resolves he had maintained up 
to this last moment. 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


355 


“ Mrs. Mcredilli, you must let me speak to you a 
moment, and forgive me if I wound you. I cannot 
bear to see you so lonely and forlorn — imposing upon 
yourself a sacrifice too great for the cause that 
prompts it. Do you intend always to adhere to such 
a course as you are pursuing? Will you let one 
who is so unworthy of a single thought, poison your 
whole life and make it lonely and miserable ? I 
would not dare to ask it, had I not witnessed his 
hiithlessness in the devotion with which he bent 
over your rival, and seemed to hang upon every 
word. I am not saying this to bias you. It is only 
just. Why not free yourself — sever all this forever, 
and secure to yourself a peaceful future at last, 
untainted by the dread of his persecutions. It is 
your right.” 

She looked at him wildly, with the startled air of 
one who had received an unexpected blow. 

“ Dree myself,” she repeated. ‘‘ Do you mean 
apply for a divorce ?” 

“ Yes. Why not? lie is no more your husband, 
except in name, than if he had never seen you. He 
is heartless — soulless — faithless. He is a clog upon 
your actions, and the dread of your existence. You 
wrong yourself in leaJing such a life.” 

“ A divorced wife ! I, a divorced wife 1” She 
exclaimed, shudderingly. “Oh, no! never, never! 
Anything but that ! ^Ye were pledged over the 
dead. Till death severs the tie that bound us, I am 
his wife still in name, if not in heart. It does not 
matter. Why should I wish the law to free me? 
While he lived I could never marry another. There 


356 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


could be no other advantage in freedom. No, no. 
Do not speak of it.” 

“But if he seeks you, and claiming you, harasses 
your life till it becomes a burthen? You could 
secure yourself from this. Can you hold thus intact 
the ties that bind you to a man you hate?” 

“Yes, sooner than break a vow uttered over the 
dead body of one who was more than a father to 
me — sooner than stand before a public tribunal and 
claim justice of the world, while its cold, cruel eyes 
surveyed me in doubt — perhaps incredulity and 
scorn ! Oh, I beg you, say no more. It is impossi- 
ble for me to follow your suggest ions. I can sutler 
as I have suffered — perhaps die in the effort to 
endure, but I cannot do what you ask!” 


CHAPTER XXXY. 

The next day was stormy, and Ora was unable to 
go out. The wind sighed drearily around the build- 
ings, and the rain plashing against the windows made 
her start and shudder, when she remembered how the 
storm was beating above a little head that had once 
lain so lovingly against her bosom. Each day as it 
passed, served to bring renewed longings for that 
lu-ecious child whose release had been a blessino*. 
AYhile her judgment told her that it was far better 
that she should have been removed from a world of 
care, her poor heart in its solitude craved something 




ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 357 

to fill tiie void made by the cnishiug out of every 
living hope. 

She had lain silently upon the sofa nearly all day 
long, too weak and indisposed to stir, since there was 
no possibility of getting out. A little fire had been 
kindled in her grate, and sent a bright glow through 
the room, but its light showed a pale and wretched 
countenance reposing on the velvet cushion — the brow 
contracted, and the lines of the mouth drawn tightly 
in an expression of weariness and suffering very pitiful 
to behold. 

‘‘ Ah! if the end would but come!” she moaned 
inwardl3^ “ How can I bear it longer? 1 would I 
could die ! Oh, Father, give me rest?” 

And even as she prayed, the “ end” was drawing 
nigh — the end of existing circumstances. 

The tinkling of the bell sounded below, and she 
got up to look out. A carriage was drawn up before 
the door, and she could see that some one stood upon 
the steps waiting admittance. She could not distin- 
guish the person, however, for the umbrella concealed 
liim almost from view. 

In a moment a knock came upon her door. 

“ Some one for me,” she thought. “ Who can have 
come in this storm ?” 

It was Theodore. He sent up his card, and begged 
to see her only for a moment. A sickening sensa- 
tion came over her. 

“Tell him he must ex'cuse me,” she said to the 
servant. “I am not well and cannot come down. 
Oh, why does he persist in torturing me ?” she cried, 
throwing herself upon the sofa again with her face ip 


358 


ORAj THE LOST WIFE. 

the pillows. “ Cau he not see that this life is killing 
me 

The servant came back almost immediately. 

“ He says ho is very anxious to see you. It is 
important. He has news, and can^t you let him come 
up, if 3’ou are too ill to come down ?” 

She raised both bands and pressed them over her 
brow with a gesture of despair. 

“Say then that 1 will come down, Mary. What 
can he have to say now ? Oh, I wish I might be left 
in peace,” she ejaculated passionately, as the door 
closed on the girl. 

He was standing by the mantel as she came in, his 
hat in his hand, looking anxiously towards the entrance 
of the parlor. Coming forward at once, he held out 
his hand and said feelingly: 

“ I am so sorry you are indisposed. I should not 
have dared to intrude upon yon after hearing it, but 
1 bring you news.” 

“ News? Of what nature ? But why need I ask ? 
No good news can come to me now.” 

“You are too hasty. I think it is good. I have 
found some of your old friends.” 

“ My old friends?” she repeated, “who can you 
mean ?” 

“ The Cliftons. Why did you not tell us before 
that you knew tliem ? I met the doctor to-day, and 
learned it by accident.” 

Ora had flushed crimson, then paled again. 
Theodore led her to a seat, and made her sit down. 

“You look as if Iliad struck you,” he said, half 
smilingly. “ Is it such bad news to know that I have 


359 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

discovered where you used to live before I knew 
you ?” 

Do you know all ?” she faltered. 

Yes, all. You are a brave woman to bear all you 
had to suffer there, Mrs. Meredith. But you have 
long been justified.” 

“ Justified, did you say? Oh, Mr. Baymond, then 
they at last believe in my innocence !” she gasped, 
clasping her hands, and looking up at him as he stood 
before her. 

“ Yes, and have, for a long, long time. They 
sought you vainly for a considerable period after you 
left, knowing how you had been wronged. They are 
eager to assure you of their good feeling.” 

“ How did it all come about ?” she asked. 

“ In this way. When Ellen was ill, I called in Dr. 
Clifton, and .took him into my confidence. He 
attended her, and since our return and an explanation 
of affairs as they now stand, has been to see us. To- 
day I met ’him again, and incidentally, in speaking 
of my sister, mentioned your name. He caught it 
instantly, and questioned me about you with great 
interest. The whole story came out in the conversa- 
tion, and I learned everything. When Guy Bartoni’s 
villainy was revealed, they came to the couclnsion 
that you had been aware of the fact, and that was 
the cause of his attempts to injure you. Was it not 
so?” 

“Yes. I learned by accident that he had a wife 
living before I came to New York. He feared that I 
would expose him.” 

“ Which you should have done. That is the only 


360 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


thing tlie doctor blames you for. He thinks you 
should have told them at once.” 

To have done tliat would have been to lay open 
to them man^^ incidents I preferred not to relate, and 
I could not bring myself to do it. Besides, I was a 
stranger, unknown to them, while he was the betrothed 
of the daughter, and had every advantage on his side. 
Wliat right had I to expect them to believe mo against 
him ? He did not hesitate at falsehood and deceit 
when it served his purpose.” 

“ At any rate, he could scarcely have made matters 
worse than they became in the end. You had aright 
to defend yourself.” 

Ora said nothing. There were things of which 
she might not speak to him, even in excuse. He 
continued : 

“ 1 have some further news for you. When you 
are able, I am commissioned to bring you around to 
see poor little Agnes Montes, who has since your 
departure been fast fading away. She loved you 
better than any one on earth, the doctor says, and 
her whole cry is for you. 1 wanted to take you 
to-day.” 

‘‘Aggie! Is she then so ill? Oh, poor child — - 
dear little friend. I will go to her at once! She 
alone clung to me in my sorrow and distress ! And 
all this time she has never forgotten me ! Dear, dear 
Agnes !?’ 

She was moved strongly now. 

“ A re you able to go to-day ? Do not overrate your 
ability,” said Theodore. 

“ Is she dangerouslv ill ?” 

O •/ 


€RA, THE LOST WIFE. 


361 


^‘Yes, so I gathered from the doctor.” 

‘‘Then I must go now, I will not think of myself. 
Wait for me. I will not keep you long.” 

In a short time she returned well wrapped up, and 
he placed her in the carriage, carefully striving to 
shield her from the rain, which was still falling. She 
could with difficulty realize the sudden changes she 
was constautlj^ experiencing now — they followed so 
rapidly one upon another. 

They were expecting her, for Dr. Clifton had 
arranged with Theodore to bring her that day. Lina, 
much changed, but the same loving-hearted being as 
■ever, met her with a warmi embrace, and wept freely 
as she held her to her bosom. The Doctor held both 
hands and looked down at her with sympathy and 
feeling shadowed forth in face and manner. 

Fortune still buffets you, evidently,” he said. 

You are worn to a shadow. Welcome back to peace 
and rest.” 

She could not answer. Her heart was too full. 
Faces and objects so familiar moved her beyond utter- 
ance, and she could onl5^ clasp the friendly hand, and 
give vent to her feelings in tears, 

“ Oh, how much we have thought of how much 
we have wanted you,” said Madeline as she led her 
into the chamber where Agnes lay. “This poor 
child has been wild about you. We had to tell her 
that you wore coming, to r^uiet her, for we knew the 
end was drawing near, and her pitiful pleadings nearly 
broke our hearts, It v/as a Providence that sent you 
back to US.” 

“Oh, wlmt a pitihal wreck 1” 

31 


362 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

Ora’s heart ached as she bent over the little form 
stretched upon the bed, and felt the feeble arms twine 
about her neck, as a glad cry broke from the child’s 
lips. 

“ A wreck indeed !” added Madeline almost bitterly. 

Oh, it seems almost incredible. Our whole house- 
hold has changed ! You have heard the sad story — 
Guy dead, and by my brother’s hand — that brother a 
lonel}^ wanderer and exile from his native land. It 
has been very hard to sustain life with all this misery 
to contend against. And now Aggie 1 oh, my poor 
child!” 

She bowed her head upon the pillows and sobbed. 
Long suffering had nearly worn away her strength 
to endure patiently these successive trials. 

Theodore left after a short conversation with Dr. 
Clifton, and then the latter came up stairs. Mutual 
explanations followed, and the evening drew on 
rapidly, ere they were aware. Ora could note a very 
great change in every member of the family, now that 
she could regard them more attentively. She had not 
been alone in her sorrow. Others had felt the weight 
of its heavy hand almost as keenly. Even wild, 
rattling Kate was quiet and subdued, her jmuug face 
shadowed with a thoughtfulness that was saddening 
to see. 

Seated by Agnes, her hands clasping the frail little 
palms, she told them her own story, and listened to 
all they had to tell her in return. They were not yet 
done, when a summons to tea interrupted them, and 
they deferred the conclusion till afterward. 

“ Don’t leave me, please,” pleaded Agnes as the 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


3G3 


I P 


summons came. “It has been so long to wait, I cant 
luive you leave me now. Let them bring it up.” 

“Yes, do,” said Madeline. “You look weak and 
ill yourself. I must go down with papa, but I will 
send yours to you. Try to rest a little.” 

Ora suffered them to do as they wished, and 
remained. Agnes drew her down to her closely : 

“Oh, I am so happy to have you all to mj^self a 
moment,” she murmured as they went out. “ I 
wanted you, till my heart broke in its longing. You 
don’t know how much I love you, or you would have 
come back.” 

“ But I have comeback, my love, and now you will 
get well,” said Ora, cheerfully, trying to keep down 
her tears at the child’s sad tones. 

“No, I shall not. You have come too late to save 
me. 1 grieved till I could not bear it. But you are 
here to say good-bye, and I am so glad and happy. 
I can thank God that you are come. I tried to be 
patient, but I could not. It was so cruel to have you 
wronged and driven from me. I was a wicked girl 
then. Oh, ^mu can’t imagine what black thoughts I 
have had in my heart ! I despised — I hated them all 
for what they have done !” 

“ But you don’t feel so now, do you, Aggie ? That 
is wrong.” 

“No, I don’t feel so anymore. I felt changed 
every way, after awhile. I got sorry for being such a 
trouble to those who were so kind to me, and tried to 
be good. It was hard to do, but I did it as well as I 
could. Everybody had so much trouble I tried to 
forget mine and help them. Lina was so sorrowful. 


364 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

and yet so patient with me when I was nanglity, I 
was ashamed ; and after awhile I grew to love her 
dearly. I think I love everybody iiow, and I did not 
like any one but yon at one time. I wonder why it 
is so " 

“ It is because you have learned to understand 
things better, and can appreciate the kindness and 
love of your friends,” responded Ora, smoothing 
back the black tresses from the child’s pale brow. 
“ Do you think, Aggie, that you would like to leave 
them ? You said just now you could not get well. 
Are you afraid to die ?” 

“ ITo, not afraid^ but I do not want to die now. 1 
feel as if I would love to stay with you all, but it 
dont matter much. I am not like other girls, and 
would never be happy like them.” 

“Why do you think so ?” 

“ Because I feel things so deeply. They hurt me 
so easily, and I am so easy to get angry and unhappy 
over things that do not go right as I want them. If 
I set my heart on anything and could not have it — or 
do it, I should go wild. I think God knows what is 
best for me, and that is the reason He is taking me 
away.” 

Was this a little child talking so gravely and so 
earnestly, resigning herself to the will of an over- 
ruling power unmurmuringly ? Passing from the 
dawn of earthly existence into the mysteries of an 
unknown world fearlessly I What a beautiful lesson 
in the example the child was teaching as her young 
life ebbed away ! 

She talked to her till the others came up, partaking 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


3G5 


but lightly of the supper brought her in the interval, 
and afterwards watching with them till late. 

Before dawn Agues grew weak, and continued so 
tlie following day. The night succeediug, her spirit 
passed quietly to that “ unknown world,” where so 
many Ora had loved had gone before, leaving nothing 
belli nd but the frail casket which she clasped in her 
arms in a passionate burst of grief. One more tie 
was severed, never to be united again on earth. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Another week went round, and Ora was once more 
installed in Dr. Clifton’s household as of old, only 
now she was understood and appreciated. Had Harry 
been at home, she would never have gone back, but 
he was a wanderer for an indefinite period, and she 
had no place to go to, and the asylum offered was very 
tempting in her sadness and loneliness. There was 
double sweetness in the kind and affectionate treat- 
ment she received, now that the stain had been cleared 
from her name, and she found herself more than 
restored to their esteem and love. 

One evening shortly after her removal, she donned 
bonnet and shawl, and taking a boquet of late flowers 
she had obtained for the purpose, she wended her 
way to Ada’s grave, where she went almost every 
day. A singular pleasure always awaited her there. 
She loved to scatter flowers over her child’s resting 
place, and now that Aggie was laid beside her at 


36G 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


her earnest request, she was drawn to the spot with 
a feeling as if she was going to meet and talk with 
her dear ones. It was after four o’clock when she 
arrived at the Cemetery, and though cool, the day 
was clear and bright. She sat down upon the little 
mound, green and beautiful, strewing her flowers 
lovingly over it. Then she dropped her face upon 
her hands, and soon lost herself in a sad retrospection 
of the past. 

At length a heavy sigh, more resembling a groan 
of anguish, caused her to start and look up. Then a 
smothered cry broke from her lips, and she half rose 
to her feet with clasped hands, and face white as 
death. A strange form was towering above her, an 
agitated face, white as her own, pictured against the 
clear sky in bold relief. 

‘‘ Nina,” said a husky voice, “ Nina, is it thus we 
meet at last ?” 

She could not speak or move. Like one frozen to 
ice, she stared at him in her terror and agony. He 
repeated again, pleadingly : 

‘‘Oh, Nina, will you not speak to me? You have 
not forgotten. I see that you know me, even though 
long years of suffering have changed us both.” 

“ Aye !” now broke from her lips. “ It has changed 
us — myself particularly. But whose work was it, 
Edward Piercelie ! Who brought that suffering upon 
us both ?” 

“It was I. I would not try to deny it if I could ; 
but may not years of remorse and penitence wipe out 
the one sin and error of my life. Oh, Nina, if you 
knew how those years have been passed, you would 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


367 


pity me — you would come to me, and giving me your 
hand, say in your own sweet childlike way as of old, 
“ Edward, I forgive you.” 

“ No, that cannot be. It is too late. The time for 
such words has passed. They were sealed upon my 
lips the day I buried my daughter here, and knew 
that it was your perfidy which had opened for her 
an untimely grave ! Had you been true to one of 
the most sacred ties of nature — she had not died 
amongst strangers without food or medicine, and been 
forced to owe her very resting place to a stranger’s 
charity ! Had you been true, I had not fled from 
your home and become a wanderer — compelled to 
labor for my daily bread — suffer wrong and miscon- 
struction — be insulted with suspicion, and become the 
object of pursuit for base and soulless beings, to whose 
mercy you consigned me when you cast me oflf for 
another ! Oh, how can I remember all this, and 
then, because you come to me and say you have 
suffered, say that I forgive you! No! I will never 
utter the words ! You may suffer, if you indeed can, 
which I doubt. Fresh from the presence of her for 
whom I was abandoned, I cannot believe that you can 
come to me with any other feeling than to devise some 
new mode of torture for my future ! What have I 
done that you should thus persecute me? Why have 
you followed me here? Has Alice Murray’s fascina- 
tion lost its power? Where is she now, that you are 
not beside her?” 

She spoke rapidly, vehemently — passionately. 
His tones were humble and yet tender as he endeav- 
ored to reply. 


368 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 



“Kina, wliy wrong me?. Surely, if I have sinned, 
it is not to that extent your words would convey. I 
know not where Alice Murray is. She left the day 
after you fled, and from that day I never saw her, 
until a short time ago. I heard of her at times, but 
held no communication. When you lel't, it broke the 
spell sire had woven about me, and I was a miserable 
man — ^the most miserable that breathed the breath of 
life. I sought you everywhere. Our neighbors could 
tell me nothing — strangers could tell me nothing — no 
trace or clue could I lind to guide me, and at length 
was forced to abandon a fruitless search. I thought 
you dead, that you had killed yourself in your misery, 
aiid through all these years I have been a hermit, 
feeling as if I bore upon my brow the mark of Cain, 
even worse, for one dearer than a brother, has beeii 
my helpless victim. It was but a little time since, that 
1 heard that you were alive. Alice, traveling North, 
accidentally discovered you, recognized, and made 
inquiries concerning your employments and position. 
She wrote me a letter, telling me how I might And 
you at Saratoga. No need to repeat her account. 
The thought that you were alive filled my soul with but 
one desire, and I hastened there, only to find you gone. 
I tried then to get your address, but failed. They 
told me then that you had left Mr.. Raymond’s, and I 
knew not how to seek you, but I lieard that he resided 
here, and I followed hoping for some intelligence. I 
liave been unsuccessful until now — must liave been 
for some time, probably, liad I not seen you as you 
came in here, and recognized you. Oh, Nina, I felt 
that in the sight of you at last, God had answered my 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


3G9 


praj’er, and I was forgiven. 1 could scarcely refrain 
from flying to you and clasping you in my arms ! 
But I dared not, till you, too, had spoken my forgive- 
ness. Will you not speak it now? Will you not 
put your hand once in mine? I ask it for the sake 
of the old happiness that for a little while was ours.” 

He advanced and held out his hand, his whole 
frame tremulous with emotion, but she shrank back. 

“ Ho, I cannot. You ask too much. My heart is 
steeled against you. I loved you once, with a love as 
strong as death — I would have died to prove that love, 
but you trampled it under foot as worthless ! Oh, shall 
I ever be able to forget your own words? Shall I tell 
you what you said — how you told her you had never 
loved me — called me a silly child, and deemed me 
‘ incapable of the great love that could enrich your 
life !’ Do you forget your loving protestations, your 
kisses and vows of affection, and when she pitied me, 
bade her not mention my name ! Must I give you a 
history of what I suffered then — how with my heart 
breaking 1 went to my room, and took my child from 
the roof once sacred — then desecrated ? How I stole 
forth in the night and walked with my innocent 
burthen to the nearest station, and there, unperceived, 
took the cars that bore me away from you ! How 
after that, I labored through weary months of toil and 
study to make myself fit for some situation by which 
I might keep my child from want? Oh, those were 
bitter days. I went to a little southern town, and 
engaged teachers. I took my most valuable jewels 
and sold them that I might have the means to live 
and at the same time acquire those branches of know- 


370 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


ledge I required. Labor and study was not the worst 
of my trials. A wicked mau saw my loneliness and 
persecuted me with humiliating attentions. He was 
a musician, and I took lessons of him in singing. 
He was gentlemanly at first — then patronising, then 
familiar, and I resented it. He grew angry at this, 
said he was no music teacher, but a gentleman of 
leisure, and had been struck with my pretty face and 
glorious voice, and sought thus to be near me and 
win my interest. Things began to look dark at 
length. Several months had passed, and I had over- 
taxed myself bodily and mentally. I fell ill. It was 
then that a little child — a boy, was prematurely born, 
and that, too, I must lay up against you. You killed 
him, Edward Piercelie ! Another evil grew out of 
this ! That man found it out, and made it the pretext 
of suspicion and insult. He reported maliciously 
that I had been false, and my husband had cast me 
off! 7, mind you 1 Oh, I laughed, even, in my 
bitterness then, to think how I was slandered. Am I 
not running up a score against yon, that will stand a 
wall of adamant forever, between us? You were the 
cause of all ! Hone of this had come, had you not 
driven me from you with your faithlessness. I did 
not realize it all then. It was a long time ere I 
learned to look upon you in a true light. I even 
loved you till Ada sickened and died. Then my 
whole soul turned. I could bear no more. You had 
stood an idol, but your image shattered to irreclaima- 
ble dust over her tomb 1 Then, I despised and hated 
you. I cannot help it. I have cause. The toil of 
years — the poverty, disgrace — death — all, all come 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 371 

between you now and one softening emotion. I will' 
never forgive 3^011 — never ! Go ! leave me in peace 

“ Nina, Nina ! have pity ! Do not sa}^ that you 
will not forgive me. Take time, consider, but do not 
condemn. I am not as guilty as you deem me ! Oh, 

I cannot bear to live on unforgiven. Here, over the 
body of our dead child, I plead for pity !” 

“ Aye I murder her, then turn to the heart-broken 
mother and crave pardon for the deed. Bring up the 
other also, and make him a plea too ! You murdered 
them both, and I, their mother, may listen to you when 
you bid me pit}’ you in remembrance of them.” 

She laughed a wild, bitter laugh. Excitement had 
turned her brain, almost. Her feelings had risen till 
reason was overpowered. She could think of nothing 
in this hour but a long catalogue of woes, and it had 
steeled her heart against him. He now stood shaking, 
with bowed head, before her. 

‘‘ I can bring no justification but my deep peni- 
tence,” he murmured chokingly. “Will it have no 
weight with you ?” 

She lifted her hand with an imperious gesture, cold 
incredulity and scorn stamped upon her haughty 
face. 

“ I have no faith in your penitence ! You tell me 
that through all these years, you have been a misera- 
ble hermit believing me dead. You say accident 
discovered me to Alice Murray, and she wrote you. 
When you fly to find me, but learning after one 
brief inquiry that I have left the place, you turn^and 
devote yourself to Alice as of old. Why, if you bring 
to me a penitent heart, did you not prove it in your 


372 ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

actions? You did not leave her side all day. You 
took her upon your arm at starting from the place, 
and hung upon her every word. In the cars you 
ignored any other existence but hers — were blind to 
everything- but her presence. But now, having, as 
you thought, escaped observation, you hunt me down, 
and bring a false protestation of penitence. Sir, what 
can be your object in this ?” 

He looked like one amazed, and could with difiSculty 
comprehend her meaning. 

I cannot understand you,” he replied at length. 
“ I have never been guilty of what you impute to me. 
Some one has deceived you, but how, I cannot imagine, 
or for what purpose. There is no one who knows me, 
that I am aware of, in this part of the country. And 
if Iliad been seen and recognized, it would not have 
been in such a way as you name, engaged. I saw 
Alice when we left Saratoga, but she was not on my 
arm. After a short interview that morning, I did 
not see her all day. I was in my room, too ill to stir. 
I was too thoroughly unmanned by disappointment 
to do anything till the cars started. When at last, 
the weary day came to a close, and I went down, I met 
Mr. Scott, his sister, and Alice. They were in the 
White Mountains all summer, and had gbt as far 
as Hew York on their return, when they learned 
that Alice, instead of joining them there as arrange- 
ments had been made to do, had stopped at Saratoga, 
and they returned for her. The party she was with, 
had gone on, and she telegraphed them for their escort 
home. The lady on my arm was Miss Scott — the 
gentleman with Alice, her brother, whose wealth is 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


373 

sufficient attraction without tlie wit, which he lacks in 
a sad degree. She married him in this city as they 
went tlirough, and you might have seen the notice in 
the papers had you looked ; and by this time they are 
homo. Believe me, it was not I, as you have been 
led to believe, who was by her. Who could have 
mistaken him for me ?” 

“ It was no mistake. A friend informed me, who 
is incapable of falsehood,” she replied, still incredulous 
seemingly to every assertion. 

“Then you will not believe me?” 

“ hlo. If I did, I should still be as far from a dis- 
position to listen. I have no fancy to be lenient, because 
, Alice Murray may have cast you off for a new face 
and fortune. You could not marry her, and she has 
thought more prudently of her course, and has wdsely, 
if you speak truth, married a fool. She does not de- 
serve even such good fortune as to have a fool for a hus- 
band, but may save herself by attaching him to her.” 

“ Will you not tell me who this friend was, who told 
you, he said,” unheeding her last remark. 

“ Ido, what does it matter ? I believe him ; that is 
I sufficient. I repeat that he is incapable of falsehood, 
and I know you differently.” 

I “ It was a gentlemen, and one whom you regard with 
deep interest,” he faltered brokenly. “ Perhaps one 
; you love, and that is what has hardened you. Is it so?” 

I She was silent. 

“ Is it true?” he cried, passionately, “and must I 
I leave you — unloved — unpitied — unforgiven I Will 
i you have no pity I” 

“ Go !” she simply uttered. 


374 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


His liand was slowly uplifted, and pressed his fore- 
head as if a blow had fallen upon it and he would ease 
the pain by the action. His face was pallid as marble. 

Oh,” he groaned bitterly. ‘‘ I am justly punished, 
but I cannot bear it. Oh, Hina, Hina, my wife, come 
back to me — believe me — pity me ! I have told you 
but truth ! By all my hopes of heaven I swear it. 
Do not cast me off so hopelessly. At least say one 
word of forgiveness !” 

“ I have said what I mean. Go,” she articulated 
in cold, measured tones. 

I cannot, till you say at least you will try to forgive 
me. Hina, I have wronged you bitterly, but not 
enough to justify you in unforgiving hatred of me. I 
cannot go down into 1113" grave in peace till 3^11 have 
pardoned my sin.” 

Still immovable as marble ! Had she been of stone 
she could not have appeared more unfeeling, and as 
her iciness increased, his excitement roseiiipi-oportion. 
He was almost wild and incapable of self-control. 

“ You have learned to be inhuman,” he cried vehe- 
mently, “else 3^ou could not listen to me so totall3" 
unmoved. Hina, if you have one spark of feeling 
left, I pray you hear me for the last time. Let me 
tell you again how I suffered, and how, when I gained 
tidings of you, I hastened with a wild, glad hope in 
my heart, to call you mine once more. Once you 
were so gentle and forgiving, a word would have 
restored me to your confidence and love, and remem- 
bering this, though my sin was deep, is it a wonder 
if I hoped to win you back when I had confessed my 
wrong freely and offered you more than the devotion 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 375 

of a life ill expiation. I would be your slave, any- 
thing you wished, only for the happiness of hearing 
you speak one forgiving word. Oh, speak it, speak 
it, I implore you, for the love of Heaven, lost I go 
mad ! Hina, I am a man no longer, but a child, 
dying at your feet, with the agony you inflict 1 If you 
will not pit}’’ me, think of yourself. Will you ever 
know peace again, when still without a word of pity, 
you see me borne to my grave, and know that your 
hand sent me there ?” 

Her lip curled scornfully. Was he in hopes of 
gaining anything by working on her fears? Her 
lime had come now. Had she a desire for revenge, 
she could ask for no more power to inflict it than at 
this moment, and the desire that had taken temporary 
possession of her, urged her on to its completion. A 
sarcastic, scornful laugh grated upon his ear, and 
she said derisively: 

“ Go on, Edward Piercelie. You improve wonder- 
fully. You would make a fine tragic actor. You 
have such a fine flow of words, and could so easily 
take hold upon the feelings of a ‘ susceptible ’ 
audience. I regret that I cannot enter into the spirit 
of your touching address more fully. Unfortunately, 
your early lessons, and long contact with trying 
scenes in daily life, have rendered me impervious to 
such emotions as you would excite in a less expe- 
rienced person.” 

“ Then farewell,” he uttered with a sudden effort at 
calmness. “May you never plead at God’s mercy 
seat as vainly for forgiveness, as I have plead with 
you.” 


37G 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


He tiirnel his face from her, and for one moment 
bent liis knee beside the grave of his child. His 
pale lips moved, as if in prayer, and then lifting a 
dower from the mound which she had so lately scat- 
tered there, he placed it in his bosom reverently, and 
with one last look of unspeakable sorrow, he mur- 
mured again a sad farewell as he turned away. 

‘‘Farewell, Nina, once my wife, now lost to me 
forever. Farewell. You will never be troubled with 
me more.” 

He went away slowly, turning but once before he 
reached the gate, and looking back as if in hopes 
she would relent and recall him. But she stood still 
and unmoved, and he disappeared through the gate. 

As he passed from her sight, something like pity 
stole into her heart. A slight revolution of feeling 
made her sink back with a moan upon the mound, 
and resting her forehead against the cold marble, 
breathe a half articulated prayer: 

“ God forgive me if I have sinned.” 

She did not heed the passage of time, and it sped 
swiftly aw^ay. It was night before she was aware. 
She was startled, at length, when she looked up, to 
see how dark it was growing, and with a heavy sigh, 
rose and drew her mantle around her. 

She found the gate of the cemetery locked when 
she reached it, and was forced to ring the bell before 
she could get out. The sexton came out of his little 
cottage, looking surprised at sight of her. 

“I thought you had gone, when I closed and 
locked the gate,” he said, but without answer she 
went out silently, and turned her steps homeward. 


CHAPTEE XXXVII. 


Slowly and sadly she ascended to her chamber, 
when she reached Dr. Clifton’s. Madeline came up 
to her almost immediately. 

“ I am so glad you have come,” she said. “ I was 
growing so uneasy about you. You are too weak to 
venture away from home so long. I will not let you 
do it in future.” 

The kind hearted girl went and put her arms 
around her affectionately, and Ora dropped her head 
against her bosom, a feeling of grateful emotion 
and remorse contending in her breast. The sad 
tones of that last farewell were ringing now in her 
ears, and had stirred again the frozen fountains of 
her better nature. Already, in the brief space of 
time she had to reflect upon what had passed, she 
had made up her mind to tell him, if they should 
meet again, that she forgave him. But that was all 
she could do. Keceive him again in confidence — 
restore him to her affection was impossible. Noth- 
ino-but the dead ashes of the old love remained in 

o 

her heart. She would not even try to rekindle the 
flame, were it in her power. He had said truly, that 
she was ‘‘ lost to him forever.” 

“Are you ill?” asked Lina, anxiously, as she 
received Ora’s weary head and lovingly stroked back 
(377) 32 


378 


OKA, THE LOST WIFE. 


her hair. “ You are either sick or very tired. 
Which is it?” 

“ Both sick and tired, dear Madeline. Life’s trials 
will never have an end but in the grave,” she replied, 
drearily. “ Oh I dear !” 

‘‘Why, what has happened?” said Lina, really 
beginning to feel alarmed. 

Ora lifted her white face with a momentary 
expression of its former stony bitterness. 

“He has followed me here — followed me, and 
found me out at last. He has even ventured to stand 
upon the sacred ground hallowed by the remains of 
his innocent, helpless victim — desecrating it by his 
presence !” 

“Whom can you mean? Not your husband, 
surely !” 

“Yes, whom else should I mean? Oh, Lina, I 
have borne much, and still live, but I can endure no 
more. If the cords of life do not snap under the 
pressure, I shall certainly go mad !” 

“Where is he now ?” asked Madeline in a subdued 
and tremulous tone. “ He will not trouble you again, 
I hope.” 

“Perhaps not! He said he would not, but I can 
scarcely believe him. He will be coming back again 
soon. I expect it.” 

“What did he say? Hid he urge anything in 
justification? Was he penitent?” 

“ You would have thought so, had you heard him. 
I did not. If he has any feeling left, he is now learn- 
ing to understand Avhat he made me suffer. He is 
receiving his reward.” 


4 


/ 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 379 

“ AYliy, liow?” asked Lina, not comprehending her 
meaning'. 

“ I refused to forgive him.’ 

Madeline’s face became very grave and sad. 

“ Oh, Mrs. Meredith, this is unlike you,” she ven- 
tured. “ Christ did not refuse it to the most guilty 
— will you be more severe than your Divine Master 
in your condemnation ?” 

“ Lina, would you have me take him back again ?” 

“ No, not if faith is shattered— love dead — as I 
believe them to be. But you can forgive him 
still.” 

“Yes, Ido now. Then, over the grave of my 
child, and remembering all, I could not. Oh, I feel 
as if I should die with this weight upon my heart,” 
she added, dropping wearily upon a sofa. “When 
shall 1 know rest?” 

Madeline sat down by her, seeing her state of 
mind, and taking her hands in her own, drew from 
her a narrative of the scene in the Cemetery. It 
touclied her to the heart. She could not blame Ora, 
but at the same time she pitied the man whose 
errors had wrecked the lives of both so sadly. She 
believed him to be sincere in his repentance. 

“ Perhaps,” she thought hopefully, “ all may yet be 
right.” 

Two or three days passed away, before Ora again 
ventured to the Cemetery. She feared to meet Mr. 
Piercelic, who, she could but believe, would seek 
her again. When she did go, it was early in the 
morning, and Lina accompanied her. The latter went 
to give some orders about Agnes Montes’ grave, and 


3S0 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


tills was a good opportunity. She feared to let her 
go alone. 

The gate was unlocked already, and they went in 
witiiout ringing. The sexton was at the farthest side 
of the Cemetery from them, seemingly very busy, 
and they sent a boy who was playing about the 
cottage door, to say that they wanted to see him. 
Lina waited till he should receive the message, while 
Ora walked across to their lot. 

A few moments later, a piercing scream rang out 
upon the air. Madeline turned her head just in 
time to see Ora throw up her hands and then fall to 
the ground upon her face. Terror for an instant 
deprived her of motion, but in a moment she recov- 
ered self-possession, and hastened to the spot, the 
sexton following her. 

Ora lay as one dead, close to a strange form 
stretched out, face downward, upon the grave. It 
was a stranger, but instinct told her who he was — 
the unfortunate husband. A phial was* lying empty 
close by, labelled laudanum, and the hand exposed 
to view had grasped a small slip of paper which 
must have slipped from his fingers and lay upon the 
ground just beneath. With a beating heart she 
stooped and picked it up, reading the lines traced 
there with tumultuous emotions of pain and pity: 

“Nina, I cannot live without you, and have come 
here to die. Perhaps you will forgive me when you 
lind how I have expiated my sin, and believe in my 
remorse. I implore you, let me bo buried here with 
our child — it is all I ask.” Madeline let fall the 
paper trembling in every limb. 


4 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 381 

“ Why, what is this said the sexton, now coming 
up. “I declare, it is the man who came here last 
night, and stone dead now!” 

“Yes, quite dead,” assented Madeline, bending 
down to touch the cold hand. “ And she is nearly 
as lifeless — ” now lifting Ora’s head upon her lap, 
and beginning to chafe her hands. “Do get some- 
thing quickly — some water.” 

“ I will. Do not touch the dead body. No one 
must till the proper authorities are informed. I will 
be back in a minute.” 

He hastened away, and in a short time returned 
with Avater, which they dashed over her face till 
consciousness returned. But it was only for a 
moment, and then she sank doAvn heavily, with a 
deep moan, and relapsed into insensibility. 

“ Oh, what shall I do ?” exclaimed Madeline, 
seeing how hopelessly matters were becoming 
involved. “ How shall I get assistance, and take 
her home ?” 

“We must get her to the cottage now, and send 
for a carriage afterward,” replied the man, taking her 
up in his arms as he would a child. “ Come, I will 
take her to the house, and my wife Avill help you.” 

As quickly as possible, Madeline despatched a 
hurried note to her father, bidding him hasten to 
her immediately. With all their efforts they failed 
to restore Ora again, and she became terrified with 
the thought of death. But it seemed an age after 
the messenger started before the Doctor arrived, and 
then with the first glance, the ominous expression 
of his face, seemed to confirm her fears. 


382 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 

‘‘Papa” she wliispereS anxiously, What is it? 
Is she in danger 

Her father stood for a moment holding the wrist 
of the patient, and when he did speak, it was to ask; 

‘‘ How did it happen ! The messenger could give 
me no satisfaction, and your note explained nothing. 
How was she attacked 'P 

Madeline related briefly how she had preceded 
her, and how, being alarmed by her shriek, she had 
turned to see her fall, and on hastening to her, had 
found her as one dead beside the grave on^bich 
was stretched the lifeless form of the mt'ie i ortibi^ 
suicide. 

“ Bad, bad ! We must get her home, my daughter,” 
said the Doctor, at the close. “The shock has com- 
pletely prostrated her nervous system.” 

Reader, we pass rapidly over an interval of time 
it were painful to dwell upon. The inquest — the 
verdict of suicide — the burial of the penitent hus- 
band who had expiated his sin with his life. They 
laid him beside the little child, as he had plead to be 
laid there in his dying hour, and the green grass 
wrapped father and daughter in one common mantle 
of living beauty. 

A year has passed away since the morning on 
which he was found dead, and the revolving wheel 
of Time has turned up to light new scenes, while 
the old ones slowly fade from the eye. 

Harry Clifton is still in Europe, but he writes 
cheering letters that bring roses of happiness into 
the fair cheek of his gentle sister. He means to 


ORA, THE LOST WIFE. 


383 


come home soon, and bring a pretty little wife, of 
whom he speaks glowingly. He has not forgotten 
the old love, but he has considered it wisely, and 
mastered it, to give place to one more propitious of 
future happiness. 

Amongst those of our friends whose interests have 
been linked with Ora’s throughout this story, we 
find few changes. A new governess is in the old 
place at Dr. Clifton’s, and the usual routine' of life 
goes on steadily. Ora has been to her old home in 
the South, and has disposed of all the property once, 
belonging to Edward Piercelie. It affords her all 
she wants for future comforts. No need now of 
labor and toil. Surrounded by her friends, she is 
resting — not in peace, but in patience. Remorse is 
in her heart, that she cannot stifle. The one hard, 
cruel act of her life she could not forget. She had 
denied a word of forgiveness to a suffering soul that 
had rashly sought its Creator with the heavy weight 
of sin upon it, and now she would give her existence, 
but for one moment of life, in which to set the longing 
spirit at rest. 

But, too late now! she can only pray for pardon, 
and endure meekly her punishment. 

Look once more upon her, reader, ere the curtain 
falls. She is sitting in the bay window at Dr. Clifton’s, 
the light falling upon her pale, delicately chiseled 
features. Short rings of hair cluster all around her 
head, which has been shorn of its wealth of tresses, 
and gives her a much more girlish look than of old. 
She is still in the habiliments of deep mourning, and 
refuses to soften the solemn color by one tint of a 


B8J: OR A, THE LOST WIFE. 

brighter hue, thougli Madeline has more than once 
ventured to urge it. 

AVhile she sits there, Theodore Eaymond is an- 
nounced, and enters as an old, familiar friend. She 
* greets him with the calm, placid demeanor of a sister, 
and permits him to sit down by her, asking him ques- 
tions about the family, as she quietly continues the 
employment that engages her. He does not seem to 
like it, and takes the light fabric from her hands. 

“ Please allow me to put this everlasting embroid- 
ery away. I want you to talk to me now. I have 
come for the answer to my suit. Tell me at once. 
Am Tto go back now and come no more, or am I to 
hope to take you home and keep you forever?” 

There is no flush upon her cheek — no change in 
the light of the blue eyes ; and she speaks very 
slowly and sadly, looking in his face: 

“ Theodore, you know what my life has been and is. 
In the past, pain and misery be^^ond what mest women 
experience — far. The future embittered by regrets 
that will never die. If you can be happy with me, 
thus overshadowed — with all the lightness and spirit 
of youth crushed out of my nature, and accept a sad- 
dened, prematurely old wife, I will not say nay, for 
you are dearer to me than all earth beside. "But I 
tell you frankly my ability to make your life bright 
with strength and cheerfulness, has gone.” 

“No, dear Ora, you mistake. To me your very 
presence is sunshine, and I had rather have one of 
your sweet, quiet smiles, than all earth beside. Bless 
you, darling. I am at peace, now. I have waited 
long. Ora, but at last God vouchsafes me a reward that 
doubly compensates. Mine now — my own sweet 
wife — God willing, you shall know sorrow no more.” 


THE END. 


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